


Tell Me Not In Mournful Numbers

by jordsie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014), Game of Thrones RPF, George RR Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Infidelity, F/F, F/M, Infidelity, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Soul-Searching, True Love, War, i just love them okay, let me live, reckless behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jordsie/pseuds/jordsie
Summary: To my son, Jon SnowA long time ago, I promised you that we’d talk about your mother. Well, I am a Stark and I intend now to keep that promise. I had hoped to have this conversation with you in person but King’s Landing is a dangerous place and I have started to feel as though I may never see my home or, indeed, the North ever again. It is because of this that I write to you now.I’m sure you’ve heard the stories by now; all the tales of Rhaegar; how he kidnaped and raped my sister; how his greed started the war that ended his house.I’m not going to tell that story again; no, I’m going to tell you the truth. Well, as best as I can.





	1. Life Is But An Empty Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is basically the product of listening to too many Rhaegar/Lyanna playlists on 8tracks and my own overactive imagination, it's my idea of what really happened between the dragon and the direwolf.  
> I hope you guys like it, let me know what you think!

To my son, Jon Snow

A long time ago, I promised you that we’d talk about your mother. Well, I am a Stark and I intend now to keep that promise. I had hoped to have this conversation with you in person but King’s Landing is a dangerous place and I have started to feel as though I may never see my home or, indeed, the North ever again. It is because of this that I write to you now. There is so much that I still need to tell you, so many promises I made that still need to be kept. I have failed you time and time again; I did not give you the family you deserved and I sent you to the wall before you were ready. I have not been the man I ought to have been and, for that, I cannot apologize enough. I beg you to listen to my story in full and cast your judgement only at its end. I will accept whatever that is.

Jon, I must admit now that I have deceived you; I am not your father. In truth, I am your uncle. Your mother was my sister Lyanna Stark and your father was Rhaegar Targaryen, the Dragon Prince who Robert killed at the battle of the Trident. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories by now; all the tales of Rhaegar; how he kidnaped and raped my sister; how his greed started the war that ended his house.

I’m not going to tell that story again; no, what I'm going to tell you is the truth. Well, the truth as I know it.

It started at a tourney. During the summer of my twentieth year, Lord Walter Whent organized a tournament in honor of his son’s tenth name day. It was to last a whole month and every noble family in Westeros was invited to attend. At the time my brother, Brandon, was still storming around Winterfell, imagining himself as Lord and bossing my siblings and me around mercilessly. We were happy then, that much I remember.

I’m sorry, I can’t tell it this way. Even now, after all these years, the emotions threaten to overwhelm me. I have to distance myself or I’m afraid that I won’t make it to the end. From this moment onward, I’ll explain what happened as though it were a story.

At the beginning of our tale, the Stark pups were as close as they could be. Brandon, the oldest, doted on his baby brother, Benjen, and Lyanna and her brother Eddard were very rarely seen apart. The servants often joked that sending Ned to the Eyrie had meant sending half of Lyanna too. By that time she was seventeen years of age and far more beautiful than any Stark had rights to be. Her hair was long and thick, tumbling down her back in a river of dark brown silk and her eyes were like two shards of silver, glinting with the spirit of the north. She was as wild as the wind rushing over plains, wearing riding gear the way some women wore fine silk. Lord Rickard had long since despaired at ever teaching his daughter to behave like a southern lady, only asking that she consent to wear gowns on formal occasions and when other noble families visited.

Eddard was her exact opposite in everything but looks. Where she was joyful, he was solemn; where she was fierce, he was hesitant; where she was sure, he was afraid and where she was reckless, he was careful. Together they were in perfect harmony, more like twins than siblings, but apart they seemed off-kilter, as though part of themselves were missing. Having said that, they did not always see eye to eye; Lyanna often mocked her older brother for his seriousness while he chastised her for her carelessness. Sometimes, Eddard thought that Lyanna was the only one in their family to truly yearn for the wilderness.

It can be said that Lyanna Stark was often more wolf than girl, and she saw her nobility as a leash; a gilded leash, but a leash nonetheless.

On this particular day, Brandon was sitting in with Lord Rickard as part of his training, leaving Eddard to help Benjen practice his sword work. The younger boy swung haphazardly, strong for his age but still too impatient for battle. Ned blocked his thrust easily and began correcting the boy just as his sister returned from her ride. The brothers stopped to watch as she trotted her powerful Friesian stallion into the gates, and then proceeded to continue in circles around them, closer and closer with each rotation.

“Lyannaaaaa,” Benjen whined, sounding closer to four than fourteen, “Lyannaaaa stop.”

Her laughter rang out through the training ground like bells as she tugged on her horse’s reigns and brought the stallion to a complete halt. She climbed off of the animal gracefully and ran a hand through her windswept hair. A servant came and collected her horse as Lyanna pulled her brothers into tight hugs.

“I’m ever so sorry brother dear.” She teased, pressing her lips firmly against Benjen’s cheek, “I just wanted to get one last ride in while we’re still up north.”

Benjen wiped his cheek, having decided quite recently that he was too old to be kissed by his sister, but he looked appeased nonetheless.

“They have horses down south you know,” he pointed out, “and anyway, I thought you were brining Balerion with us?”

“Oh I am, but riding isn’t the same down there. The air tastes different and father probably won’t allow me to go far enough to have any real fun.” Lyanna explained.

“Lya, we aren’t going there for fun-“, Eddard started.

“Of course we are Ned!” She interrupted, “It’s a name day _celebration_ not a name day commiseration.”

“Your brother is right Lyanna,” Lord Rickard countered, appearing on the balcony that overlooked the training ground, Brandon silent at his side like a dark ghost, “Lord Whent’s tourney is more than just an opportunity for you children to make fools of yourselves in public; it’s a showcase for every great house in Westeros. The Starks have held Winterfell for thousands of years, we’re an ancient and proud house and we will behave accordingly. Winter is coming, and we cannot appear weak or foolish when it arrives.”

“Absolutely Father,” Brandon agreed, trying very hard to look dignified and above the childish antics of his siblings, “and Robert will be there Lyanna. The tourney will be a good opportunity for the two of you to get to know one another.”

Ned saw his sister wince at the mention of her betrothed and wondered, for the thousandth time, if their match may have been a mistake. His best friend Robert Baratheon seemed completely enamored with Lyanna. She, however, was far less enthused, any discussion of her betrothal sent Lyanna into a state of quiet melancholy that was common among the Starks, but a rare occurrence in the young she-wolf. It made something in Eddard crack, to see his sister like that.

“Excellent point Brandon,” Rickard agreed. “Catelyn Tully will be there too, won’t she Brandon?” Lyanna shot back with a smug smile.

“She most definitely will. Now, go get cleaned up and change, we need to leave within the hour if we hope to make it to Harrenhal in time for the opening festivities.” Lord Rickard commanded.

All four young adults nodded and went their separate ways without further complaint, all arguments already out of mind. As loving as he was, Lord Rickard wasn’t a man who allowed for disagreement from his children, he expected them to behave in the manner that befell the wardens of the north, namely with honor and integrity. The tourney at Harrenhal would be the largest gathering of Westeros’ nobility for nearly three decades and therefore, it would be ripe with perils that his sweet children had never faced before. The north remembers, and Rickard Stark remembered the treachery of the southerners’ game of thrones all too well.

He hoped his children were ready.


	2. For The Soul Is Dead That Slumbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tents stretched out as far as the eye could see and the very air seemed to quiver with excitement as thousands of flags fluttered in the wind. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen smiled at the sight, something warm and comforting swelling in his chest as he gazed out at the sea of fabric; it was a beautiful day and it looked as though it was going to be a beautiful tourney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! I had to imagine most of the character descriptions and obviously the whole setting of the tourney, but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

The tents stretched out as far as the eye could see and the very air seemed to quiver with excitement as thousands of flags fluttered in the wind. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen smiled at the sight, something warm and comforting swelling in his chest as he gazed out at the sea of fabric; it was a beautiful day and it looked as though it was going to be a beautiful tourney.

“Are you well my prince?” His wife, Elia, asked.

Rhaegar gave a start, having forgotten that she was there; she usually rode in the wheelhouse. Her copper skin shone in the afternoon light and her raven hair soaked up the sun despite being twisted into a knot on the top of her head. Rhaegar nodded, feeling the customary mixture of annoyance and shame bubble up in his stomach at the prospect of having to complete the short ride into Harrenhal with her by his side as she gazed up at him adoringly.

“Quite well, thank you,” he answered with a forced smile, “just anxious to get started.”

Elia’s dark eyes flashed with something like fear, “You don’t truly mean to compete, do you?”

He frowned as Harrenhal grew closer and closer, “of course I mean to compete.”

“My love you can’t!” she insisted, “You are the crown prince; you cannot go around injuring yourselves alongside lesser men.”

Rhaegar huffed as he felt his annoyance grow, “These men will be my subjects one day and I will ask their houses to pledge themselves to me and my family. If they don’t respect me, they’ll never support my ascension and no nobleman worth his title will respect a man who sits back and lets other men fight for his amusement.”

Elia opened her mouth to argue but Rhaegar hushed her as they came upon the welcoming party at the gates of the great keep of Harrenhal. Crowds had gathered to see the royal procession arrive and Rhaegar let himself breathe a sigh of relief. His men were a beautiful sight, their armor shining in the sun as they supported the royal seal; a three headed dragon in scarlet on a black field.

He came to a stop before Lord Whent, a stocky man with sandy hair and eyes that couldn’t quite decide if they were blue or green. It was obvious that, in his youth, he had been a powerful man but in his current state he reminded the prince of a pudgy cherub. With all the grace and elegance he could muster after weeks of travel, he clambered down off his grey mare and handed her reigns to the waiting stable boy.

“Your Royal Highness,” the man bellowed merrily, with a deep bow, “it is my utmost honor to welcome you to my humble home.”

Lord Whent’s voice was simultaneously loud and round sounding, like he was always on the verge of laughing and, as he clambered down from his horse, Rhaegar found himself smiling. He liked the funny little lord.

“The honor is all mine Lord Whent, thank you for the invitation.”

“We’ve prepared the East wing for the royal family,” Lord Whent explained as Rhaegar fell into step with him, “and tents for all the competitors. I hope everything is to your liking, if not, just let my steward know and we’ll do whatever we can.”

Rhaegar nodded, casting his gaze to the keep. Harrenhal was an old castle, but a majestic one and it was obvious that Lord Whent was proud of it.

“I’m sure it’s all lovely my Lord.” He turned to the captain of his guard, ser Barristan Selmy, impatient to get going, “escort my family to their rooms please ser Barristan.”

Elia looked between the knight and her husband, “You aren’t coming with us, my love?”

Rhaegar felt himself bristle, “No, I’ll stay with the other competitors,” he started, “if that’s alright with you of course Lord Whent.”

The fleshy lord looked thoroughly shocked but recovered quickly with a deep bow that made his sandy hair bounce.

“Of course, your Highness, may I enquirer as to which event you intend to participate in?” He asked, still bent over.

“The joust and perhaps the melee. I’m afraid I never was much of an archer.” Rhaegar answered with a self-deprecating smile.

“I’m certain that your Highness is magnificent with a bow,” Lord Whent insisted, “but we would be honored to have you compete in our humble tourney.”

The prince gave Walter Whent a disbelieving smile and then looked out across the tents again. The tourney looked as though it would be anything but humble. In fact Rhaegar was sure that tales of its extravagance would spread across the seven kingdoms like wildfire. Lord Whent caught the prince’s gaze and chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“If your family would consent to be led to their chambers by my wife, we’ll get started.” Lord Whent suggested.

Rhaegar allowed Elia to press a kiss to his lips but pretended not to understand the silent pleading in her eyes. With the weight of his wife off of his shoulders, Rhaegar felt himself becoming more and more excited and as Lord Whent led him to the tents allocated to the Targaryens, he was almost vibrating with suppressed joy. It had been so long since he’d been free to wander and roam as he pleased, so long since he’d been free of his father’s violent moods. He wasn’t a fool, he knew what his father was, he knew that the lords of Westeros bowed to his face and whispered “Mad King” and “Dragon spawn” behind his back. However, for the next month, none of that was his concern, for the next month, all that mattered was staying on his horse and making sure his lance met its mark.

The canvas tent was spacious and filled with everything him and his men could ever need, including feather beds that were separated by fabric walls and tables piled high with food and drink. He chose one of the smaller tents for himself and the three primary kingsguards that his father had assigned to protect him, leaving the bigger tent for the remainder of his men. The Royal servants delivered his things to the smaller tent and Rhaegar gave them each a silver dragon for their effort. Ser Barristan always warned him against doing that, reminding him that this was in fact the servants’ job, but he couldn’t make himself stop. His bags were especially heavy, and he couldn’t ask people to lug them around without giving them something as a token of his appreciation.

In one case he kept his clothing and rolls of fabric that he was hoping to get made into new tunics during the month and the other was just filled with books. More than anything else, Rhaegar loved to read and he couldn’t go anywhere without his favorite books. He was a scholar, a deep thinker prone to melancholy and fits of silence. The singers in Kings Landing called him “The thinking Prince” and songs were composed to his sensitive nature and love of the arts.

As he unpacked, Rhaegar was suddenly struck with a fierce need to get out and see the sky. After so long on the road, with nothing but the heavens above, being inside felt odd and he felt as though something important was about to happen, something he couldn’t miss.

“Ser Dayne, I’m going to go and explore.” He explained, “Make sure the banners are hung by dinner.”

“Allow me to accompany you my prince,” Ser Barristan Selmy replied.

“Of course.”

He liked Ser Barristan.

Of all his father’s guards, he was the most grounded and least likely to judge Rhaegar for his less traditionally “princely” hobbies. He enjoyed the man’s company and, as they walked, the pair talked like old friends. With his stark white-blonde hair and violet blue eyes, the prince couldn’t exactly blend in; he was instantly recognizable as a Targaryen and so they went to great lengths to avoid being spotted. If there was something Rhaegar didn’t want right now, it was the pomp and ceremony that accompanied being the crown prince. They must have seemed quite the pair; the old knight in armor and the tall, strapping prince in his royal blue and gold tunic with his ancestral sword strapped to his belt.

“Do you really mean to compete in the joust your Royal Highness?” the knight asked.

“Of course, you know I love to ride.” He answered.

“The princess doesn’t seem to want you to,” Barristan pointed out gently, “would it not be easier to just let her have this victory?”

“Seven hells on my wife,” Rhaegar snapped, “it isn’t the jousting she’s worried about and you know it.”

“Well…”

“Elia is my wife and the mother of my children. She will always be a fixture in my life, whether I will it or not. Is it so wrong for me to have one month to myself?” he asked, wishing that he didn’t sound quite so whiny.

“Of course not my prince.” Barristan conceded.

By this stage, the pair had nearly reached the edge of the campsite, where a forest as old as Westeros grew tall and proud and a wall of fog could be seen, masking everything beyond. Rhaegar looked out into the distance, imagining what could lie behind the thick white mist. He could see the Kingsroad leading away from Harrenhal and disappearing into the cloud, just a strip of road and then…nothing. It made him feel peculiarly off balance.

“Down that road lies the North,” Rhaegar heard himself say, “first moat Cailin, then Cerwyn 260 miles further and Winterfell.” It felt as though he were waiting for something as he stared intently into the fog, “And then it’s the wall and beyond that…well, who knows really?”

“Are you planning to travel to the north your Highness?” Lord Barristan asked; his voice tinged with confusion.

“No,” he answered dreamily, “I was just wondering.”

“Perhaps you can ask one of the Karstarks or the Umbers. They’re as northern as snow itself. I think I saw their banners on the way here, should we go and find them?”

Rhaegar shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the wall of smoke. Movement caught his eye and something in his chest pinched. He felt as though he were asleep and he was watching himself from afar. There was a certain electric quality to the air that he was unused to, like a storm was about to break and he was supposed to wait for the rain.

“I think someone’s coming.” He heard himself point out to his guard.

They emerged like a pack of wolves; with speed and elegance, a procession of dark haired riders hoisting banners emblazoned with a snarling direwolf.

“Oh, it looks like the Starks have arrived.” Barristan commented.

Rather than go through Harrenhal itself, like he was expecting, the Starks and their riders made their way in the direction of the campsite. From afar, Rhaegar watched them approach with interest. The pinching in his chest increased in pressure until it was more of a tugging sensation, like there was a rope attached to his ribcage, pulling him towards the dark riders. Slowly but surely, individual figures came into sight; four riders moving at the head of a procession that seemed small for such an overwhelmingly ancient and powerful house.

“The Starks travel light,” Barristan explained, as though he’d read Rhaegar’s mind, “They’ve probably been on the road for twice as long as we have.”

Rhaegar nodded, but never turned away, keeping his eyes trained on the riders. They were close now, heading for the camp’s most northern entrance, which was about 100m to his left. There were three boys, two of whom seemed near his age and one who couldn’t have been older than fourteen. They were laughing and joking amongst themselves, their dark hair standing out against the lush green landscapes with their voices echoing, but all Rhaegar could see was her.

Because, gods above it was _her_.

She couldn’t have been any more beautiful, Rhaegar thought, as his heart pounded like a kick drum behind his fragile ribs. Suddenly, the world seemed brighter, the silver-grey of her dress crisper and clearer than anything else he’d ever seen. Even from where he stood, Rhaegar could see her blinding smile and the way her grey eyes glinted in the sunlight and, when she laughed and threw her head back, letting her windswept hair tumble down her back; he could barely stop himself from collapsing. Nothing had ever sounded sweeter to his ears.

“Who-who is that?” he asked.

From a million miles away, back where his body was standing frozen, far too far away from the enchanting woman, he heard Ser Barristan answer, “That’s Lyanna Stark.”


	3. And Things Are Not What They Seem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna winced as her hand maidens tightened her corset. She hated these things, but her father had insisted on her wearing one because ‘all the southern ladies do it’. Lyanna had, of course, pointed out that she wasn’t a southern lady, but she subjected herself to the pain anyway, figuring that it was probably easier than arguing with her father.
> 
> “Ow.” She cried as Ilya tightened the strings even further, “Does it really need to be that tight?”

Lyanna winced as her hand maidens tightened her corset. She hated these things, but her father had insisted on her wearing one because ‘all the southern ladies do it’. Lyanna had, of course, pointed out that she wasn’t a southern lady, but she subjected herself to the pain anyway, figuring that it was probably easier than arguing with her father.

“Ow.” She cried as Ilya tightened the strings even further, “Does it really need to be that tight?”

Ilya, who had been born in Kings Landing and had practically grown up with Lyanna, gave her an incredulous look, “This is how all the ladies are wearing them now Lady Lyanna. Do you want Lord Baratheon to think you’re fat?”

“No, I do want him to think that I can breathe though.” She mumbled.

“Speak up my Lady; your lord father hates it when you mumble.”

“I just said that I’m tired, that’s all.” She lied, surveying herself in the mirror.

It had been several hours since the four Stark children had arrived in the camp-ground outside Harrenhal, but Lyanna had barely seen any of it. After being greeted by the Tully sisters; two auburn haired women near Lyanna in age, Brandon and Ned had slipped into Young Lord Mode. Brandon had bowed and kissed Catelyn Tully’s hand, assuring his betrothed that she grew lovelier each time he saw her and Ned did the same for Lysa, more to make the slightly plainer girl feel included than because he ought to. The Tully’s had offered to escort them to their tents and Brandon had eagerly accepted, offering his arm to his lady as they had begun to walk away.

Lyanna shivered, remembering the warmth that had flooded through her wind-chilled bones as she felt someone’s eyes on her. She had turned and searched for the watcher with her eyes, but she saw no one. It felt powerful and ancient, that gaze, like a giant waking or a pack of direwolves howling at the moon; but she felt no malice and no danger coming from the person, only unabashed curiosity. The warmth had filled her with a sense of purpose that she didn’t fully understand yet and she’d realized uncomfortably that her and her brothers may have just been drawn into something bigger than any of them.

Ned had noticed then that his sister wasn’t with them and had called back to her cheerfully, breaking the girl from her reverie. Chastising herself for being foolish and melodramatic, Lyanna had handed her horse’s reigns to the stable hands and followed after her family. The feeling of being watched had followed her for a long, long time.

“My Lady?” Ilya repeated, snapping Lyanna back to the present.

“Yes, sorry, what is it Ilya?”

“Would you like to wear the black gown or the green?”

Lyanna thought for a moment, “The black I think.”

It was one of her finest gowns, commissioned by her father for exactly this occasion. The skirt was made up of layered black silks that felt like water under her fingers and the bodice was decorated with silver filigrees, the sleeves of her gown left her shoulders and collar bones exposed to the air, a look she wasn’t used to but the Tully’s had insisted was all the rage in the capital. Her long, dark hair had been combed into a smooth waterfall of mahogany and a silver circlet rested on her head, marking her as nobility. She felt naked without her fur cloak and heavy boots but it was far too warm for them this far south and she had to make do with satin slippers and a thin cape for the chilly nights.

“You look beautiful my Lady,” her other serving maiden, Marleyna promised, “Robert is going to be enchanted.”

She gave the woman a weak grin and clutched the fabric of her dress in an attempt to calm her nerves.

“No doubt he will, I hear he’s half in love with you already.” Ilya teased, good naturedly.

Lyanna rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing herself tightly over her corset.

“He doesn’t even know me,” she insisted, “You can’t love someone you don’t know.”

“Maybe he loves the idea of you. Would that be so bad?” Marleyna asked gently.

“Maybe not, but I’m not sure that I love the idea of him.” Lyanna answered.

All too soon Lyanna was walking through the damp grass, with the evening sun bathing the campsite in warm soft light, escorted by her lord father, on the way to meet with Robert Baratheon and his family. Part of her wanted to run away and hide, another wanted to fall to the ground and beg her father to let her go back to the tent and a third wanted to scream and curse at her brothers for ever suggesting this union in the first place. However she kept all of this in check and schooled her features to something resembling serenity, reminding herself of her duty to her family.

Ned gave her an apologetic look, wishing that he could put his sister’s mind at ease. Robert was a good man, Ned knew it, and he just wished that she could see it too. Lyanna would be well looked after, Robert had been swearing that to him for as long as he could remember. Robert’s lands were vast and fertile and his family had held on to them for hundreds of years. The Baratheons may not have been quite as powerful as the Starks, but they held just as much sway politically, maybe even more so since Lord Rickard was famous for steering clear of Westeros’ political skirmishes. It was a good match, a smart match, so why did Ned suddenly feel so unsure about it?

Lyanna, for her part, was just trying her best not to be violently ill as the Starks arrived before the yellow and black tents of the Baratheon party. The prancing stag was as instantly recogniseable as the eldest Baratheon himself; tall and muscular with shoulder-length black hair and stubble across his sculpted jaw. His eyes lit up with excitement as the Starks arrived and Lyanna prayed that the fading light would cover her pained expression.

Ned jogged forward and embraced Robert like a long lost brother. They clapped one another on the back and their laughter floated through the evening air, making something twist in Lyanna’s stomach uncomfortably. Robert towered above her brothers and her father and he made her feel positively microscopic as he bowed and pressed his lips to her hand.

“My Lady,” He greeted, “You are even more beautiful than I remember.”

Lyanna curtseyed, “Thank you My Lord.”

“Shall we walk?” Robert asked, offering her his arm.

He led her down the winding pathways of Harrenhal’s grounds, her brothers following behind with Robert’s own younger brothers. Robert talked to her about a great many things that she found endlessly boring but she played her part, smiling and nodding in all the right places. She thought that she must’ve been exceptionally transparent but Robert, it seemed, was eating it up.

“You know, I’ve been very anxious to see you my lady,” Robert admitted.

“Lyanna.” She corrected reflexively.

“Lyanna,” Robert said, somehow making the word sound wrong, “Well then call me Robert. It does seem stupid to be formal with one another, I mean; we’ll be married soon after all.”

Lyanna nodded, trying to avoid meeting the man’s eye.

“You’ll love Storm’s End Lyanna, I just know you will. There’ll be feasts and parties and festivals like you’ve never seen.” Robert promised.

“That sounds lovely,” Lyanna lied, “are you going to compete in the tourney at all My-Robert?”

“Yes! In the melee. I’m sure your brother has already told you by now but I have rather a talent for knocking people over with my hammer when they annoy me.”

Lyanna giggled, “Yes, I’ve actually patched Ned up after a few little squabbles between you and him.”

“Lyanna’s a brilliant fighter too.” Benjen cut in, “She’s the best rider and archer in the family.”

“Is that so?” Robert asked, looking confused for a moment, “Well, don’t worry once we’re married there’ll be no need for you to do any of that. You’ll have plenty of time for more suitable womanly pursuits.”

Lyanna opened her mouth to argue as her face flushed with annoyance but before she could speak, one of Robert’s guards stepped forward and whispered something into the young lord’s ear.

“I’m so sorry but I must take my leave,” Robert said, bowing to Lyanna’s father first, then her brothers and then, finally to her, “I hope to see you again soon Lyanna.”

His lips against her hand felt wrong and she shivered as he walked away, wondering how she was ever supposed to get used to the way he twisted her name in his mouth.

“Come Lya,” Ned suggested gently, “let’s head up to the keep. We’re already late for the feast.”

She nodded absentmindedly and let Brandon lead her away. As the Starks walked, Lyanna couldn’t make herself speak. It had just hit her that this marriage was really happening. In less time than she cared to admit, Lyanna Stark would become Lyanna Baratheon. She would no longer be the she-wolf; she would be the Lady of Storm’s end. She would never see the towering wall again or feel the summer snows against her skin, instead she would sip tea and embroider and have Robert’s children and host his parties and slowly but surely She would fade away until Lyanna Stark was nothing at all, not even a memory. Her eye stung as she blinked away her tears and replaced them with what she hoped was a solemn and noble expression.

The doors of Harrenhal were open and the main banquet hall was bathed in warm golden light. Lyanna could hear the music and the laughter as she entered, tucked securely between her father and brother and she felt some of her old excitement rear its head again. They had missed the opening speeches, and Prince Rhaegar had already christened the dancefloor with his wife Elia, which Lyanna had to admit, she was disappointed to have missed. She remembered the tingle that had run down her spine when she’d spotted the sprawling black tents and fluttering scarlet banners of house Targaryen. Some small, childish part of her had hoped to see the young dragon in person and get the measure of him, judge whether or not he was the man that the songs always claimed he was.

“Lord Arryn!” Lyanna’s father boomed, wandering off to greet his old friend with Ned close on his heels.

Brandon and Benjen soon vanished too, off to woo Catelyn Tully and her sullen looking sister, leaving Lyanna to wander the hall alone. Tables lined the vast room, piled with all manners of food and drink and surrounding a space in the center for people to dance and mingle. Lyanna could see noblemen parading their young daughters around this space like winning ponies and felt a momentary flood of relief that she didn’t have to go through that, a relief that was interrupted when she remembered why. To drown out the thoughts surrounding her impending nuptials Lyanna grabbed two chalices of sweet summer wine and downed both in rapid succession. If this was to be one of her last feats as an unmarried woman, she’d be damned if she didn’t have a good time.

She washed down five small pastries filled with cheese with another two chalice’s of wine and eventually a pleasant buzz started to develop in her bloodstream.

“Woah,” someone commented, “thirsty much?”

Lyanna turned and was struck dumb, her mouth gaping like a fool, but she couldn’t help it, the man was like no one she’d ever seen. He was tall and lean, well-muscled and wrapped in the finest fabrics available; his hair was a pale silver-blond and his eyes danced somewhere between blue and violet. They were infinitely kind and infinitely sad all at once, and he regarded her as though he knew her already. If Robert Baratheon was handsome, this man was beautiful. She felt her body flood with warmth as the smiled gently, making the man chuckle. That alone was such a pleasant, rolling sound that Lyanna blushed again and laughed along at how simple she must have looked.

“You could say that, yes.” She admitted, gesturing to her empty chalice.

The stranger nodded, “I can understand. I’m rather thirsty myself.”

He reached across and refilled both of their cups, giving her a kind smile on the way.

Desperate to redeem herself, Lyanna blurted out, “So, are you here for the tourney?”

The man snorted, not unkindly and gave her an incredulous look, “No, I’m actually here for the juggling competition one field over. Of course I’m here for the tourney!”

Lyanna laughed, “Well, that’s too bad because, you see, I actually only drink with professional jugglers so…”

“Well, that is a tragic turn of events, isn’t it?” The man agreed, playing along, “And why might you be here then, my lady?”

She thought for a moment, “I’m here to be anointed as a knight, of course.”

“Oh of course.”

“Yup, I’m going to win the melee tomorrow.” Lyanna swore.

“The melee that starts in a week you mean?” her companion corrected.

“No! No, I mean the secret melee for all the super advanced fighters.” Lyanna continued, “They thought it’d be unfair to make us compete against all you weaklings, so they gave us our own time slot.”

“How very kind of Lord Whent, I must remember to come see you compete then, and maybe afterwards you can come watch me juggle.”

Lyanna laughed, wondering when the last time she’d enjoyed herself this freely with someone other than her brothers.

“Might I ask you for your name Oh Fearless Warrior?” the man asked.

Lyanna froze. Her name could ruin everything, it would ruin everything. Lyanna Stark, daughter of Rickard Stark was well known, as was her engagement to Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and one of the fiercest warriors in Westeros. Any man with sense knew that to spend time with Lyanna Stark was to risk Robert’s wrath, and no one would be willing to take that risk. She was no fool, she knew that her companion was a Targaryen, he had to be, but she wasn’t sure that being related to the Prince would be enough to save him from Robert Baratheon’s hammer.

“Must you?” she asked, “Is a name so important?”

He thought for a moment, “I suppose it’s not. Maybe we nobles put too much trust in names.”

“Exactly, could we not simply continue to enjoy each other’s’ company as we are now? Without all that to drag us down?”

The man regarded her again and something resembling pride glittered in his eyes.

“If that’s what you desire then of course my lady.” He finally responded.

Lyanna smiled and nodded her head in thanks before taking a seat at the nearest table, a tiny thing so shrouded by the smoke from the many blazing fires that it could barely be seen by anyone, which suited Lyanna just fine. Her companion took his seat beside her, his arm brushing hers as he reached for the nearest plate of food and began loading their plates. Lyanna stiffened as a shock of electricity jolted through her body.

“I apologize, my lady,” He said quickly, moving himself further from her, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, you didn’t.” Lyanna promised, “It’s just that I could feel the warmth of your skin through your tunic.”

The man smiled somewhat ruefully, “I run warm.”

“That must be useful during the winter.”

“But it’s a nightmare in the summer.” He countered.

For a long time the pair ate and talked, joking with one another as though they were old friends and not just perfect strangers. It was wonderful and exhilarating until, out of the corner of her eye, Lyanna noticed that Brandon wasn’t where he ought to be. Instead of dancing with Catelyn, his betrothed, Brandon Stark had one arm wrapped around an older girl, a blonde with eyes like emeralds. _Cersei Lannister_ , the prize jewel of Casterly Rock. They looked quite cozy, she noticed, as Brandon pulled the blonde onto his lap while she squealed with laughter. On the far side of the hall, Lyanna could see Catelyn Tully smiling bravely as she talked with Elbert Arryn and the second oldest Stark brother, but her eyes flicked to Brandon far too often for her to be ignorant of how he was slighting her.

Lyanna wished, not for the first time, that her father could see this side of Brandon; the cruel, reckless, selfish side that came out when he wasn’t under his father’s gaze. Something of her irritation must have shown on her face because her nameless companion followed her gaze and frowned.

“Is that the Lannister girl? Tywin’s daughter?” he asked. Lyanna nodded, “And that boy, is he…?”

“Brandon Stark,” she confirmed, “son of Lord Rickard Stark and future warden of the North,” she sighed, “and Cersei is not his betrothed.”

“Ah.” The man replied, obviously understanding. He looked at her again, noticing the tight set of her jaw and the way she clutched her knife in her fist as though she were going to stab someone and deciding to take a risk, “Would you like to get some air? I find that it’s terribly stuffy in these kids of places.”

Lyanna tore her eyes away from her brother and, once the man’s suggestion had registered, nodded frantically, grateful for the excuse to escape. He offered her his arm and began to lead her out but, before they could make it to the door, a tall, dark haired man strode in confidently, towering over everyone else in the room. Cheers erupted around the room as Lyanna squeaked and dropped to the floor, dragging her companion along with her as she crouched, hidden behind the nearest table. Judging by the continued cheers and the loud booming of the newcomer’s voice, no one had noticed.

Robert Baratheon had arrived.  
Her future husband had arrived at the feast and, rather than being there to greet him, Lyanna Stark was hidden behind a table with an unknown Targaryen who she’d met less than two hours ago. Brilliant.

For what it was worth, her companion asked no questions, only listened intently and allowed Lyanna to keep a hold of his arm.

“I think the coast is clear,” he whispered, guiding the girl up and ushering her carefully towards the exit.

As they reached the door, Lyanna cast one last look over her shoulder, just in time to catch Robert, her future lord, grabbing a serving maid and groping her in full view of everyone inside. She looked forward, her cheeks burning with shame and caught the tail end of what seemed to be a sympathetic look from her companion’s violet eyes.

For a while they walked in silence through the corridors of Harrenhal, their feet echoing against the cobblestones as they contemplated their lives, separately. Lyanna felt it again, the suffocating inevitability of her own destruction, the hands of time creeping ever closer to the moment when her life, _her_ life, would come to an end. She thought of Robert again, imagining herself as the unfortunate serving maid, or as Catelyn Tully, smiling bravely and pretending to be ignorant of her husband’s dalliances because she had no power to stop then and, in a soft voice barely louder than a whisper she began to talk.

She told her companion about the north, about the things she loved and the things she would miss. She talked at length about the godswood and the ice covered river that she would play on as a girl and the way that the nights seemed to swallow the day as though they were starving. She told him about her brothers, never mentioning them by name, but explaining her fears for Benjen and Ned and the growing realization she was having that Brandon would never be the ruler that her family needed. Slowly, Lyanna Stark told her mysterious companion the secrets of her heart, the things that she’d kept locked inside for so long under the naïve assumption that she would have time enough to see these problems resolved. She poured herself into the night air, feeling her body grow lighter and lighter as the words left her lips and, through all of this, her companion just listened. He never interrupted or corrected, never looked horrified or shocked and never pressed her to tell more than she was ready to, he just nodded and squeezed her hand gently, as though he were trying to reassure her that he was there.

Eventually, she ran out and silence filled the space in between them again.

“Thank you for sharing that with me my lady,” he said, “I appreciate it.”

And, with that, he returned the favor. Lyanna listened, completely enraptured as a voice as strong and smooth as the ocean washed over her and a story started to form. Her companion was the oldest of two children, his father was cruel and demanding and underneath all of his confidence and sureness, he felt as trapped in his circumstances as she did. Although he’d been forced to learn how to fight, his true passion was for reading and music and he secretly wanted to be a singer or a stage performer. The night passed quickly as the pair talked and, before long, they were completely lost.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been this honest with anyone before.” The man admitted as they decided to sit on a low stone wall.

“Me neither.”

“I’ll have to find some way to repay you,” he smiled, admiring the way the moonlight reflected off Lyanna’s hair.

“And how do you plan on doing that my lord?” she retorted teasingly.

“How about, when I win the joust I crown you Queen of love and beauty?” he suggested with a flirtatious grin.

Lyanna raised her eyebrows, “When you win the joust? When you unhorse _Ser Barristan Selmy_ and _Rhaegar Targaryen_? Very well, when you do that, I’ll consent to be your queen of love and beauty.”

This seemed to amuse her partner because he broke their gaze and chuckled, “Good.”

“Gods know it may be my last chance,” she continued somewhat sadly. He gave her a questioning look and she smiled, “I won’t be eligible for much longer.”

Something like understanding crossed her partner’s face, along with a tinge of sadness, “The man inside, the one you made us hide from?”

Lyanna nodded, “My future husband, yes.”

The man was silent for a long while, “Do you love him?” he eventually asked.

Lyanna shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears that she blinked back, “He’s a brute.”

“Has he hurt you? Is he cruel to you?”

Lyanna shook her head again, feeling foolish and stupid and weak, “No, but he thinks I’m someone that I’m not. He wants me to be his little wife and to sew and to drink tea and smile and wear pretty gowns and be....” she paused to take a breath, letting it out slowly, “his. He wants me to be completely and utterly his and to leave behind anything of mine that he can’t own.”

Her companion reached out and rested his hand on top of hers softly. It was a comforting movement, something pure and gentle that sent warmth flowing through her entire body. She was suddenly struck by a fierce caring for this strange, comforting man who had been so kind to her and she gripped his hand firmly.

“My name is Lyanna, Lyanna Stark.” She told him, “I just wanted you to know that.”

“I thought you said no names,” he said gently.

“I did, and I meant it, but I need someone to have known me, properly, before I disappear.” She admitted.

“You won’t disappear, my lady,” he assured, squeezing her hand, “I promise you that.” He sat back, resting against a column and observing the night’s sky. A small smile touched his lips and for a long moment, he looked completely peaceful, “Lyanna,” he said, as though he were savoring the word, “Lyanna Stark, it really is quite a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

 _It sounds more beautiful when you say it_ , she thought.


	4. Life Is real! Life Is Earnest!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar smiled and laughed softly as Lyanna talked. He’d lost track of the story a while ago and was now just listening to the way her voice changed and the shifting expressions on her face. She looked like something out of a dream with her long dark hair soaking up the moonlight. Lyanna Stark was like no one he’d ever met, sharp tongued and smart and elegant with a fierceness in her that made him feel like his insides were on fire. She was everything his father believed was wrong with northerners and nothing like the southern ladies he’d been told to admire and it made him feel off balance and unsure and…exhilarated.  
> “You’re not even listening anymore, are you?” she teased, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement.  
> He shook his head and laughed along with her, “No,”

Rhaegar smiled and laughed softly as Lyanna talked. He’d lost track of the story a while ago and was now just listening to the way her voice changed and the shifting expressions on her face. She looked like something out of a dream with her long dark hair soaking up the moonlight. Lyanna Stark was like no one he’d ever met, sharp tongued and smart and elegant with a fierceness in her that made him feel like his insides were on fire. She was everything his father believed was wrong with northerners and nothing like the southern ladies he’d been told to admire and it made him feel off balance and unsure and…exhilarated.

“You’re not even listening anymore, are you?” she teased, her silver eyes twinkling with amusement.

He shook his head and laughed along with her, “No,” he admitted, “I was listening to the music.” In a moment of boldness he extended his hand, “Would you care to dance?”

Lyanna cocked her head to the side, listening to the sweet music that poured out of the stone halls.

“I don’t know this song,” she warned, but she took his hand anyway and that’s what truly mattered.

This time, when their skin touched, she did not flinch. Rhaegar very nearly did though and he had to force himself to smile graciously and rest his other hand on her side. He chuckled at his own foolishness but the noise died in his throat as Lyanna’s free hand moved to his shoulder and suddenly their faces were far closer than he’d imagined. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so funny anymore. As a thrill radiated through his skin Rhaegar couldn’t help but think of Elia. Even now, with his seed quickening her womb, she felt fragile and delicate when they danced, as though a strong wind could shatter her into a thousand pieces and he always felt as though his mere presence was a threat to her health. Lyanna, on the other hand, felt strong and firm and... _alive_ in a way that he had forgotten a woman could be and, for the first time in many moons his muscled relaxed and he gave himself over to the music.

“It’s a beautiful song,” Lyanna said softly.

“It is,” he agreed, “it’s the song of Daena the Defiant.”

“What’s the story about?” Lyanna questioned.

“Love, loss,” Rhaegar said, giving her a rueful smile before aiming his gaze above her head as he descended into deep thought, “She was promised to Aegon the Unworthy but she didn’t love him. In fact, she insisted that she would die before she consented to marry Aegon who was also her cousin and heir to the throne so, two weeks before her wedding day she fled with her lover, Ser Alvar Talar. Ser Alvar was a member of the kingsguard so it was quite the scandal.”

Lyanna’s eyes were wide as she gazed up at her partner curiously, making something dangerous flutter in Rhaegar’s chest.

“What happened?” she asked.

Rhaegar swallowed, “They spent months on the run, moving from one place to the next and sleeping in inns or ditches beside the kingsroad, selling off the things that Daena had managed to steal from her parents on the night of her escape, but it was pointless. No matter how far they got, the royal guards were never more than a few days behind them ready to kill them both for committing acts of treason against the crown. Before too long Alvar knew that it was over, he saw how much Daena missed her family and how much the constant fear was wearing away at her and so one morning he snuck away before she woke and went to plead their case before the king.” He had read this history so often that, if he closed his eyes, he could picture it as though he were there and the story just rolled off of his tongue like molten gold, “He swore before the old gods and the new that he had kidnapped her and had forced her to travel with him against her will. He said that she pleaded with him every night to let him return home to her rightful husband but that in his own wickedness he had kept her his prisoner and he threw himself on the mercy of the crown.”

“Gods above,” Lyanna whispered, “what happened next?”

Rhaegar sighed, “Daena woke to find her beloved knight gone and convicted as a traitor. The histories say that she swore that she hadn’t been kidnapped, but no one believed her. She beat on the king’s own door and fought against her guards until her hands were bloodied, but I don’t think anyone wanted to believe that she had chosen to leave and so she was ignored. Daena was given back to her family with nothing more than a slap on the wrist, but Aemon made her watch as they flogged and executed Alvar. She married Aemon a week later.”

Lyanna was silent for a long while and the space between her and Rhaegar felt as though it were expanding and contracting all at once as they moved to the music. _Do you know who I am?_ He wanted to scream, _have you guessed it yet?_ But he couldn’t make his mouth form the words.

“I did not mean to upset you my lady,” he eventually said, just to break the silence as the last notes of the song faded into the night air. As their dance came to an end Lyanna looked up and gave him a smile so gentle and sad that it broke his heart a little bit.

“Lyanna,” she corrected, “and you didn’t upset me, but there's always an element of sadness in those stories, a tragedy that could have been avoided if only politics could come second to love.”

Rhaegar thought briefly of his own, loveless marriage and felt a rush of shame and grief, but he didn’t move away.

“I agree.” He said quietly, “Lyanna.”

“Do you think that that love actually exists?” she asked, “Not familial love but that deep romantic love that people die to protect? Do you think that that’s real, or is it just something we made up for the songs?”

Rhaegar looked down at Lyanna, studying the angles and plains of her face as he thought, and felt something swell in his chest, like the building of a wave or the first winds of a storm.

“Yes, I do.” He answered.

For a moment it looked as though she was going to ask something else but it passed and Lyanna simply nodded, seemingly satisfied with the certainty in his voice. Just then the doors of Harrenhal swung open, bathing the cobblestones in warm golden light as a multitude of drunken men and women tumbled out into the chilly night air.  
In an instant, Lyanna had taken two steps away from Rhaegar and began searching the crowd with her eyes. Rhaegar tried to swallow the rush of sadness that her retreat had caused, reminding himself that no respectable lady would’ve been allowed to behave the way she had with him that night. For not the first time Rhaegar grieved the way that his society handled women, the standards it enforced and all the rules it had created to keep women from ever being truly free. Lyanna had been free with him, he thought, and he ought to appreciate the risk that she’d taken in doing that.

“I should head back and find my brothers,” Lyanna commented turning back to him and, in a move that was both brave and foolish, grasping his hands in hers, “I cannot thank you enough for the kindness you have shown me tonight my lord. I feel as though I ought to pay you back somehow-“

“No my la-Lyanna,” he corrected with a smile, “I have been no more kind to you than you have been to me.”

“I hope that we can speak again soon.” she replied, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

Rhaegar swallowed hard thinking, with a sense of growing dread, of how betrayed and mislead Lyanna would feel when she realized who he truly was. At the start of the feast he had never imagined this, he had merely wanted to introduce himself, to hear the beautiful northern woman speak and maybe to win a smile from her. He had never intended to become so…entangled.

“As do I,” he answered honestly, hoping that his inner turmoil didn’t show on his face.

Lyanna’s answering smile was so radiant that, for a moment, Rhaegar didn’t care about anything else. The world faded away and it was just him and Lyanna and _that smile_ directed at him like pure sunlight.

“Sleep sweet my lord.” She greeted with a teasing curtsey.

Rhaegar chuckled and bowed in return, “Sleep sweet Lyanna Stark.”

As she vanished into the darkness Rhaegar felt both a sense of relief and a sense of loss so profound that he couldn’t make himself move. In the space of a single night, he had learned how much of himself he’d been missing, how much he’d been hiding from the world and how tired it had made him. When had being ‘Rhaegar Targaryen’ become such a chore? When had he stopped feeling like that was who he was?

“Your Highness,” a voice called sometime later, “Your Highness, it’s time to go.”

“I’m coming Ser Dayne,” Rhaegar replied, wincing as he heard the way his voice shifted to fit the tone of command, “I can find my way back to the tents myself.”

The prince could practically feel Arthur Dayne’s tension as he found a way to say, “Actually, my prince, you promised the princess that you would spend the night with her.”

Rhaegar sighed and ran a hand over his face, “Of course. Lead on, Ser Dayne.”

The castle was eerily silent as the Dornish knight led the last dragon up the stairs of the Eastern-most tower to his wife’s chambers.

“Send for some wine will you?” Rhaegar commanded as he prepared to enter, “The bitter kind from Sunspear that my wife enjoys.”

The knight nodded and Rhaegar stepped into the room. Lord Whent had obviously done his homework; he marveled as he took in the sheets of orange and gold fabric that decorated the chamber, it looked just like Dorn.  
As he entered, Elia stood from her seat next to the fire, unadulterated happiness decorating her pinched face as she walked over and embraced her husband.

“I had begun to fear that you would not come,” she admitted, “I waited for so long.”

“Apologies my lady, I got rather held up at the feast.”

An echo of Lyanna Stark’s laughter floated into his memory along with the ghost of her dazzling smile and he felt himself flush with shame. If Elia noticed his hesitancy she didn’t let on, pressing a frim kiss to her husband’s lips and winding her fingers in his hair. Rhaegar rested his hands on her hips gently and let her lips massage his as he tried desperately to not compare her bird-like bones with the feeling of Lyanna under his hands.

“Well, you’re here now, that’s all that matters.” She hummed happily, resting her head on his broad chest.

Elia loved nothing more than listening to her husband’s heart beating against her ear. It reminded her of how strong he was, how healthy, Rhaegar’s heartbeat, to her, was a constant reminder of the majesty of the man she was married to. She remembered the day that she’d met her husband as though it were only yesterday. He’d been so handsome, so young and so kind to her that she’d fallen completely in love with him in a matter of minutes. It had been clear to her from that first day that they belonged together and the fact that she fell pregnant so soon after their wedding day just confirmed it. Their daughter Rhaenys was the light of Rhaegar’s life and even the six months of bedrest Elia had had to take after giving birth was nothing compared to the joy of seeing her husband play with Rhaenys and smile.

Now, with another child on the way Elia was certain that things would only get better. She wasn’t blind, she knew that her husband was restless and had very little love for family life but she believed that the birth of a son would bring an end to his wondering. At night when Rhaegar was staying in his own chambers Elia would play the scenario over and over in her head like a prayer; her lying in bed with Rhaenys beside her and her son in her arms, healthy and strong with a thick patch of white hair on his little head and then Rhaegar would come in, smiling ear-to-ear with his eyes brimming with love for his wife and children and declare that she was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen, and he’d mean it.

“You look tired,” Rhaegar commented, stroking her hair softly and snapping her back to reality.

“I am,” she admitted, “this pregnancy is already beginning to wear on me.”

Rhaegar pulled away and inspected her face, noting with concern the dark rings under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. She had always been a sickly woman but pregnancy and excitement always made her weaker than normal.

“Sleep now Princess,” he suggested, “you’ll feel stronger in the morning.”

Elia frowned, “But, my love, you’ve just arrived! Surely you want to…”

Rhaegar shook his head, feeling anxious and drained by the day. “No, not tonight.”

Elia looked as though she was going to argue for a moment but then she relented and helped Rhaegar into his sleep clothes. The Dornish wine arrived and the couple shared a glass in bed while Elia told him all about her day and all the latest gossip her ladies had heard surrounding the tourney. Rhaegar nodded as his mind wondered, trying to untangle the mess of thoughts and feelings buzzing around in his mind.

“And Lyanna Stark apparently-“

Rhaegar choked on his wine, “What?” he asked, jolting to attention, “Wha-what was that you said?”

Elia gave her husband a questioning look, “I was just explaining how Robert Baratheon bedded some poor serving wench during the feast,” she said, “apparently Lyanna Stark was so offended that she ran off with some mystery man and didn’t return until the feast came to an end. The ladies are saying that she may be less noble and virtuous as she’d have us believe.”

He shook his head frantically, mentally chastising himself for not considering how his midnight walk with Lyanna would look to others.

“Lyanna wouldn’t do that,” he said quickly, “someone must have made a mistake.”

Elia frowned and Rhaegar realized his mistake a moment too late.

“I didn’t realize you knew Lady Stark.” Elia commented.

“I don’t, well not well anyway, but I saw her at the feast and she seemed-she wouldn’t have betrayed her betrothed like that. She wouldn’t have shamed her family.” He explained, hoping that Elia would let the subject drop.

The princess regarded him critically, trying to puzzle out what it was he was hiding. Eventually though she seemed satisfied with his story and she leaned back against the pillows.

“Perhaps I should send for her tomorrow.” She suggested.

Rhaegar swore loudly in his mind but tried to keep a straight face, “Whatever you wish princess.”

This was not how he’d expected his night to go but, as he lay back and let his mind drift, Elia sleeping soundly beside him, all he could think about was the feeling of Lyanna’s hand in his and the way her eyes had seemed to stare directly into his soul. His dreams were haunted by wolves and snow and floors stained with blood and a dark haired women and the memory of a laugh.


	5. And The Grave Is Not Its Goal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a while Lyanna had been too ashamed to do much. Rumors of Robert’s exploits had circulated the camp like wildfire and she found that she couldn’t move more than twenty steps away from her tent without hearing the whispers start up and feel the stares on the back of her neck. She felt like a circus creature and so, for days all she had done was ride; ride as fast and as far as she could, until the wind stung her eyes and her legs ached and she was far enough from the tourney that she could pretend that it didn’t exist. Once she was there, she let herself scream and cry and sing and run through the events of the night, that night.

“He really is quite dashing, isn’t he?” Lysa Tully commented, showing an uncharacteristic amount of enthusiasm.

“Quite.” Lyanna answered, casting a nervous look at Catelyn.

The three girls were seated on the stands of the training grounds, watching as the men practiced for the melee and the joust. The man Lysa had been referring to was Lyanna’s own brother, Brandon who was currently trading blows with Lord Yohn Royce, an older man who was nevertheless putting the Stark boy through his paces. It had been a few days since the opening feast, a tense few days, during which time Lyanna’s lord father had taken his leave and returned to Winterfell, leaving Brandon in charge.

For a while Lyanna had been too ashamed to do much. Rumors of Robert’s exploits had circulated the camp like wildfire and she found that she couldn’t move more than twenty steps away from her tent without hearing the whispers start up and feel the stares on the back of her neck. She felt like a circus creature and so, for days all she had done was ride; ride as fast and as far as she could, until the wind stung her eyes and her legs ached and she was far enough from the tourney that she could pretend that it didn’t exist. Once she was there, she let herself scream and cry and sing and run through the events of the night, _that night_.

If she closed her eyes she could still see Robert, dark and handsome, fucking that serving girl up against the stone wall like he was the proudest man alive. She had stood there, watching her future husband shame her and feeling as all her happiness sapped from her body in the space of seconds. She had been frozen in her spot when Robert himself had looked up and met her gaze. She had seen the shock register on his face but then Ned had found her and pulled her away, saving her the embarrassment of bursting into tears before all the lords and ladies of Westeros.

_“You won’t disappear, my lady, I promise you that.”_

That’s what her companion had said, and yet she felt it, she _felt_ it, she felt herself vanishing even now, even sitting in these stands. She wished that she could go back and change her decision; she wished that she’d stayed there with him, hidden away in the darkness, existing in a state of suspended reality. Of course, that was just a fantasy; she hadn’t even seen her mystery man since that night.

Occasionally she thought she’d seen a glimpse of him as she rode away but she never stayed long enough to find out.

“He is quite dashing, yes,” Catelyn agreed dispassionately.

Lyanna reached out and touched the girl’s hand, remembering that she wasn’t the only slighted woman that night. Catelyn had been subdued since the feast but Lyanna knew the signs of sleepless nights well enough. The older Tully girl loved her brother; that much had never been clearer and his rejection had taken a toll on her that, apparently, brought Lysa Tully endless joy. She felt Catelyn’s hand grip hers tightly even as the older woman looked blankly ahead, observing her future husband dutifully.

“Greetings my ladies,” a heavily accented voice called, “you look lovely this morning.”

“Thank you Ser,” Lyanna answered.

Ser Arthur Dayne bowed, “I would like to introduce you to my sister, Ashara. She arrived from Starfall just last night and I’m afraid she knows very few people down in these parts.”

The woman on his arm, Ashara presumably, was as beautiful as her brother was handsome with thick chestnut curls and wide, kind eyes that were tinged with fear. Lyanna smiled, understanding the woman’s discomfort all too well.

“Welcome to Harrenhal lady Ashara, would you care to join us? We’re just watching the lords train.” She offered.

“It’s terribly boring, but there isn’t much else to do until the actual competitions begin.” Catelyn confirmed, “Perhaps you ought to join in Ser Arthur, I’m sure that the Sword of the Morning would make quick work of most of these lordlings.”

The knight blushed and bowed his head, acknowledging the subtle compliment, “I would Lady Catelyn, but unfortunately I must attend to my prince.”

His eyes flickered to Lyanna for a moment and he took his leave, thanking the ladies for their kindness and wishing them well.

“Your brother seemed to have eyes for Lyanna,” Lysa commented as Ashara took a seat, “you might want to warn him that she’s engaged.”

“I’m not engaged yet,” Lyanna corrected, feeling sick at the thought, “just promised to someone.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Ashara enthused, her voice high and clear, “to whom?”

“Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End,” Lyanna answered without even attempting a smile.

“Brute that he is,” Catelyn clarified.

“Cat-“

“No Lyanna, what he did was unforgiveable. He’s a brute and you deserve better.”

Lyanna smiled and squeezed Catelyn’s hand, realizing for the first time that she may have had more friends at Harrenhal than she’d previously thought. Ashara, for her part, looked prettily confused but she nodded along anyway.

“What about you Lady Dayne?” Catelyn asked, “Are you promised to anyone?”

She shook her head, looking down bashfully, “No, my father has yet to find someone who he approves of.”

“Well, there’s no hurry. Men are all a disappointment at some stage,” Catelyn promised.

“Lady Stark,” a messenger called, approaching the girls, “I have letter for you.”

“Who’s it from?” Catelyn asked as Lyanna took the scroll.

She thought at once of her mystery companion and felt a spark of hope; a spark that spluttered and died when she saw the yellow wax imprinted with the prancing stag of the Baratheons.

“Robert,” She answered sullenly, tucking the scroll into her dress.

It was the first contact that she’d received from her future husband since the spectacle that was the feast and she wasn’t sure if she was offended or relieved by that. The clang of metal brought her head shooting up just in time to see Brandon knock lord Yhoce to the floor. She heard a slight gasp from her left as Brandon pulled off his helmet and let it fall gracelessly to the floor. Ashara Dayne’s eyes were glued to him as he helped the older man up and thanked him for a good match, laughing at some joke that the lord had obviously made. As he approached the bench, even Lyanna had to admit that he looked quite elegant, the picture of a noble lord of the north.

“My ladies,” he greeted formally, “your radiance is a constant comfort during these training sessions.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes subtly but stood anyway, the others following her lead.

“Brother, this is Lady Ashara Dayne, she arrived last night.” She introduced.

Brandon looked at the woman for a moment too long and she felt Catelyn stiffen at her side.

“Lady Dayne,” he finally said, bowing again, “it’s a pleasure. I admire your brother very much.”

“He’ll be glad to hear it my lord,” she responded shyly as she curtseyed.

“I hope my gentle sister is making you feel welcome.”

“Oh yes,” Ashara responded quickly, “she’s been ever so kind.”

“I’m glad,” Brandon responded with a smile before turning back to his sister, “Lya, we ought to go.”

Lyanna frowned, her brother had been avoiding her for days now, in fact, this was the first interaction she’d gotten besides a brief nod since the feast.

“I had plans with Lady Catelyn-“ she started.

“I’m sure my lady will understand,” Brandon interrupted, nodding in the direction of his betrothed.

Catelyn agreed quickly and Lyanna was powerless as her brother led her away. She cast one last, despairing look at her friends and then followed obediently, as was her duty.

However, she was still a Stark and so she couldn’t help but to say, “Oh, so you’re talking to me now?”

Brandon sighed but didn’t answer, simply gripping her wrist and pulling her along faster.

“Ow,” she cried, “Brandon stop, you’re hurting me!”

She protested the whole rest of the journey, but her brother never relented and before long she forgot about the letter still hidden in her gown.

“Brandon stop!” she demanded as they reached their tents, wrenching her arm away and rubbing at the tender, bruising skin.

“What’s wrong with you?” “What are you doing?” he prompted, “Are you completely stupid?”

Lyanna flinched, more hurt than she cared to admit. Brandon took no notice, continuing to pace and chastise.

“Do you have any idea what people are saying about you? The awful rumors going around about you vanishing from the feast with some man?”

Lyanna swallowed hard, “I went for a walk. I didn’t know that that was a punishable crime in these parts.”

Brandon sighed and looked up at the sky as though asking for strength.

“You’re an engaged woman Lyanna!” He asserted, as though she were painfully stupid, “You can’t just go for walks alone anymore. There can be absolutely no doubt of your loyalty to Robert.”

“What’s this?” Ned asked appearing suddenly, fresh from a ride, “Is there a reason you two are screaming blue murder at one another at 11 o’clock in the morning?”

“Our sister is shaming the family!” Brandon cried, “She’s running around making an idiot of herself and causing a scandal.”

Lyanna ignored him, feeling the rage boil up in her chest again; the blood of the wolf, the blood that she and Brandon had inherited the most of.

“ _Loyal to Robert, making an idiot of myself?!_ Is that some sort of sick joke?” she spat, “He was fucking a servant girl against a castle wall Brandon, if anyone needs to prove their loyalty it’s him.”

“You have a duty to our family-“ Brandon started, stepping forward, his handsome face twisted into a snarl.

Lyanna let out a burst of incredulous laughter, interrupting, “And what about you, huh? What about your duty to our family, or have you forgotten about rejecting Catelyn to fool around with Cersei Lannister. So you might want to try doing _your_ duty before you lecture me about mine.”

“I am doing my duty!” Brandon bellowed, “I’m marrying her aren’t I? The only reason I even agreed to this ridiculous match was for the good of the family! I promised Lord Tully that his daughter would one day be the lady of Winterfell. I promised to marry Catelyn and to father her children, but I never promised to love her.”

Lyanna stopped and saw her brother, really saw him, for the first time. She remembered how they’d played together as children, how their mother would ruffle their hair and call them her two wildest wolf pups. For years Brandon had been her only comfort, a confidant who had also doubled as a teacher and protector. For all his flaws, Brandon had always loved her and been kind to her. They’d shared a common restlessness and a discontent that their mother always loved to tease them about. When she’d died, part of Brandon had died with her; the soft boy who’d loved his mother dearly went into the tomb and never returned. This is what was left.

“What’s happened to us?” she asked quietly, too quietly for anyone but Brandon to hear.

It seemed to snap Brandon out of his rage and, for a moment he just looked confused, as though he were seeing his sister for the first time. He sighed, looking tired and mentally trained and stopped his pacing, wincing as he saw the damage he’d done to his sister’s pale skin. Brandon reached out and took Lyanna’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over the already darkening skin of her wrists.

“I’m a man Lya, things are different for me, you know that.” He said more gently.

“I don’t love him.” She admitted, avoiding Ned’s eye to focus on Brandon, “I never will.”

Brandon nodded, “I’ll never love Catelyn either.” He admitted, “If you still believe that love exists for people like us then you’re a fool.”

Lyanna remembered her mystery man again, the certainty in his voice when he’d promised her that love was real and the hope that his assertion had given her. She looked into her older brother’s eyes and saw the terrified boy he used to be, the one that he had taken to hiding under layers of false confidence and natural charm. He was also certain of what he was saying.

“I’m not a fool.” She said, only half believing it.

“I’m only trying to protect you,” Brandon promised, “as a woman, your reputation and honor are all the protection you have in this world.”

“I have you,” she said with an attempt at a smile, “and Ned, you’ll protect me.”

Brandon returned her grin and brought her hands to his lips, “Yes, we will. We would never let anyone harm you and live to tell the tale, but we can’t be everywhere at once, you know.”

“I know. I’m sorry Bran; I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I just couldn’t stay in that hall watching him…” she trailed off.

Brandon shook his head, “I was angry and I took it out on you,” he looked at her bruised wrist again, trailing his thumb over the marks, “I’m so sorry Lya, I never wanted to-I was just so angry at that oaf Robert. If he ever disrespects you like that again-“

Ned shifted, uncomfortably aware that it was his best friend that had caused this tension.

“He’ll have me to answer to, and you can have whatever’s left after that,” Lyanna assured, “that reminds me,” she sighed, removing the scroll from the hidden pocket in her gown, “a messenger brought me this while you were training; it’s from Robert.”

Brandon scowled again; more wolf than man as the opened the scroll and read it.

“What does he want?” Ned asked, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around his sister’s shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze.

“To see her,” Brandon said, “he says he wants to make amends for his shameful behavior.” The oldest Stark brother snorted and crumpled the paper in his fist.

Ned and Lyanna were as silent as the grave. The letter may have been for Lyanna, but everyone knew that whether or not Robert Baratheon was allowed into the Stark camp was Brandon’s decision. Some small, selfish part of her hoped that he would reject it, that he’d call off the whole engagement and declare Lyanna a free woman, but she knew that that was an impossibility.

“Send a message to Lord Baratheon,” Brandon commanded, drawing the attention of one of the Stark servants, “Tell him that he may speak with my sister this afternoon. Here. In _our_ camp. I want to remind him that he isn’t, in fact, lord of the world.” He turned to Lyanna, his mask of indifference firmly back in place, “You _will_ marry Robert Baratheon, fair or not. I suggest you do your best to make peace with him.” He looked at Ned, his eyes dark and angry, “You’d better keep your friend in check Eddard, I won’t tolerate him disrespecting our sister and our family again.”

Ned nodded and her brother stormed off, leaving the pair together to wonder what had happened to their brother and how they’d failed to notice his misery.

 

The day passed far too quickly for Lyanna’s liking and before she felt truly ready, the heralding of the Baratheon party ran through the afternoon air. Three of them came in, decked in yellow and black and being led by the man himself, Robert Baratheon. He was a fine sight, Lyanna admitted as she stood to receive her betrothed, all muscle and gold and fine fabrics with his dark hair pulled back into a bun at the back of his head. She looked upon him in all his glory for the first time since the feast and felt sick. Brandon didn’t deign to greet the Baratheons himself, but Ned did, clapping Robert on the back without his usual vigor. The lord of Storm’s End had the decency to look ashamed as he arrived, bowing low and deep before Lyanna.

“My lady,” he said, his voice thick with suppressed emotion, “I have come to beg your forgiveness for my behavior.”

Lyanna felt nothing as she looked down at the man, nodding to her ladies, “Give us a moment.”

Ned squeezed her arm as he and the others left, but she didn’t feel that either. Robert didn’t rise. He was waiting for her to absolve him but she wasn’t sure if she could. She sat down on the chairs outside of her tent, regarding him critically.

“You shamed me,” she said, her voice filled with more venom than she’d expected, “you shamed yourself. You humiliated me and my family in public and you ask for my forgiveness?”

Robert stood, still shamefaced, “My lady I-“

“How am I supposed to trust you?” she interrupted, “Is this what I’m to expect from our marriage, to be smeared and degraded at every turn?”

“No, no Lyanna I-“ Robert started. He surprised her then by laughing ruefully and collapsing onto a seat beside her, “gods have mercy, I really am making a mess of this, aren’t I?” She was so shocked that she had no reply, she merely sat and gaped at the giant of a man as he rested his head on his hands and cursed. “I never meant to hurt you Lyanna, you have to believe that.” He promised, “I just-I got so drunk and I-I don’t know,” he looked up and met her gaze. His eyes were bloodshed, as though he had not slept, “I have no excuse but, Lyanna I love you and all I want is for us to be married and live out our lives together as man and wife.” He took her hands in his and looked deep into her eyes, “I swear to you my lady, I will never shame you like that again.”

Lyanna felt herself thawing, her rage turning to sadness and her eyes filling with tears. She felt weak and shaken and she ached for….something, something real, something beyond this marriage and this love that was based on fantasy and expectation.

“Oh Lyanna,” Robert sighed, cupping her face with his hand and brushing the tears from her cheek, “I am so sorry, sorrier than you could ever imagine. I never wanted to hurt you. You are my lady, my love, my greatest dream and soon enough you’ll be my wife. Please, please tell me that we can move past this and start again.”

Lyanna wanted to run away, she wanted to curl up and cry but, most of all she wanted Robert’s hand off of her face. She saw Brandon again in her mind; his face twisted with sadness and anger and heard his admonishments.

_“You have a duty to our family-“_

He was right. She had a duty and she knew it, she knew it well, so she forced a smile and embraced Robert, letting him bury his face in her hair and breathe in her scent.

“Of course,” she lied, “of course we can.”


	6. Dust Thou Art To Dust Returnest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day dawned bright and clear but Rhaegar felt neither the heat of the sun nor the gentle kiss of the breeze from his seat against an ancient oak on the fringes of the Harrenhal campground, for he was submerged in the pages of his book.

The day dawned bright and clear but Rhaegar felt neither the heat of the sun nor the gentle kiss of the breeze from his seat against an ancient oak on the fringes of the Harrenhal campground, for he was submerged in the pages of his book. It was an old history, one he’d read a thousand times over, but it was also his favorite and he had yet to get bored of it. It was the story of The Doom of Valyria and the Targaryens’ journey to Westeros. It was filled with swordfights and romance and intrigue and it pulled him out of his body. Rhaegar’s favorite part though, were the dragons; Eddrycro The Eternal and his mates, Iva and Vahgo who alone out of thousands survived the Doom and went on to breed the next generation for Targaryens to ride. It had always been his greatest sadness that dragons no longer existed. As a child, when he’d tired of his fighting lessons, Rhaegar would often sneak into the throne room and climb the dragon skulls, imagining himself as a dragon rider, conquering the seven kingdoms alongside his ancestors Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya. Now, as an adult, he would settle for just seeing one.

“Your Highness,” Ser Barristan interrupted, “Are you planning on attending the festivities today?”

Rhaegar looked up, waiting for his brain to rejoin his body in the present. He always struggled to detach himself from his books and, since arriving at Harrenhal, since he’d realized how little taste he had for his real life, it had only gotten more difficult.

“Yes, of course, the festivities. Remind me, what’s happening?” Rhaegar asked.

“It’s the third day of the joust, sir. Perhaps some of your future competitors will be riding today.” Ser Dayne clarified, appearing from nowhere.

Rhaegar snorted, “That’s highly unlikely. If anyone good was riding today, well, they wouldn’t be riding today.” He laughed, closing his book, “You know that the first few days are reserved for newbies and bad riders.”

Dayne chuckled, “True enough Your Highness but perhaps lady Lyanna might be in attendance.”

Rhaegar straightened his back and tried to keep a straight face as his stomach dropped.

“Why would that concern me?” he asked, sounding foolish even to himself.

Ser Barristan gave the prince an incredulous look, making Rhaegar flush with embarrassment. It had been over a week since the opening feast and, while Rhaegar had failed to gather enough courage to call for Lyanna or even her family, he had seen her nearly every day as she rode from the camp. He watched her carefully, his heart breaking a little bit every time she came back with red eyes and tear stained cheeks and always he had the urge to go to her, especially in the days after Robert’s betrayal had come to light. Staying away was a torment that was only bearable because the idea of actually revealing himself to the girl was even worse.

“Sir, there’s no shame in admitting that you admire her, she is a beautiful woman.” Ser Dayne, who had seen them together on that first night, assured.

“I know that,” Rhaegar breathed, letting his head fall back against the tree. For a moment he just sat there and thought about her, about how it would feel to see her again, even from afar, “Fine.” He agreed; standing and brushing the dirt off his breeches, “I’ll go, but I’m not sitting in the royal box with my father.”

The king had arrived the previous day, with all the pomp and flattery of the capital. There was an official feast being held in his honor in two days’ time, after the joust concluded, and Rhaegar just prayed that his father would be able to hold himself together that long. King Aerys had been unravelling for some time now and his cruelty had become famed throughout the seven kingdoms. Rhaegar felt drained just thinking about his father and the possible fallout of one of his temper tantrums. He’d been meeting with the lords and ladies from all corners of the kingdom since his arrival, trying to reassure them that he could handle the king and reminding them of his own sanity along the way. One wrong move from Aerys and everything could come crumbling down.

“Where would you like to sit then sir?” Ser Barristan asked, falling into step beside the prince.

Rhaegar shrugged as they headed back into the cheery, bustling camp, “As far away from anyone even vaguely important as it gets.”

 

The first few days of the joust had been uneventful, or so ser Barristan had said. All four of Lord Whent’s sons had been thoroughly defeated on day two, with most of the smaller houses also suffering at least one defeat. The only interesting thing was that apparently there was a new contender in the game; someone called The Knight Of The Laughing Tree who was said to be riding not for a house, but for justice. The camp was positively bristling with anticipation. From his place amongst the commoners Rhaegar had a perfect view of where the one rider would enter and exit, and his hooded cloak kept him mostly inconspicuous. He felt, if not free, then peaceful as the first two riders appeared; the second son of lord Darke, riding against the Bravosi rider Sallello Forirah. The Bravosi rode well and, as the tilt began, Rhaegar was already certain that he would triumph; when he did, the prince cheered along with everyone else, hooting and hollering to his heart’s content.

The next two tilts were similarly obvious, but Rhaegar enjoyed watching them anyway. Occasionally his eyes would drift to the stands, searching for a familiar dark haired northerner and, when his search came up empty, he would lie to himself and say that it wasn’t a disappointment. His father, he did see and he was relieved to say that he seemed to be holding it together nicely, even anointing the young lion, Jamie Lannister and welcoming him into the Kingsguard without too much of a commotion. It made Rhaegar both tense and angry, the fact that something as small as _not_ abusing or torturing someone counted as a victory to him these days, but he took it nonetheless. Elia was there too sitting beside Ashara Dayne, the future lady of Starfell, looking regal and serene in a gown of golden damask that accentuated her copper skin, the very picture of a future queen. The only flaw was the empty chair by her side, his chair.

Seeing her and seeing that chair stirred up a mixture of emotions in Rhaegar and he looked away quickly, focusing again on the tilt. The next riders were one of lord Haigh’s sons and the mystery knight. He felt as the crowd quietened, studying this last minute arrival with interest. He was obviously highborn and rode a fine horse and though his armor was mismatched and ill-fitting, he rode well, but he was small, smaller than anyone else Rhaegar had seen riding and he worried that the knight wouldn’t have the power to force the other men from their horses. His shield was emblazoned with a weirwood tree with its snow white trunk disfigured by a crimson smile. It was unsettling.

There was also something familiar about the rider, something in the way he handled his horse that Rhaegar couldn’t quite put his finger on. Nevertheless, Rhaegar rooted for him. Lord Haigh’s son was a vain man and he could do with a good smack from the mystery knight’s lance. He got it too, after the first lap, during which Haigh shattered his lance against the knight’s shield to little effect, the mystery contender took aim again and successfully knocked the man to the ground. When Haigh’s horse was offered to the knight in tribute, he declined, declaring only that Haigh should teach his squire honor before trotting away to prepare for his next tilt.

“Who’d ya s’pose tha is?” a nearly toothless peasant woman to his right asked.

Rhaegar shrugged, tracing the knight with his eyes. He really did seem familiar.

“Well whoe’re i’ is, I like ‘em.” She said.

Rhaegar smiled at the woman and nodded, “Me too.”

The knight went on to defeat Alren Blount and, when offered a tribute declined again, making the same strange request before riding away, leaving the crowd to cheer and applaud.

“A real man ‘o the people, tha’ one,” the woman insisted, “ ‘e don’ want no glory, ‘e just wants to do wha’s righ’.”

Rhaegar made a non-committal noise and kept watching the knight as he prepared for his next tilt. The people were nearing a frenzy as the he lined up again, his lance held securely in his hand and his weirwood shield smiling grotesquely at its opponent, like a challenge. Rhaegar chanced a look at his father and winced when he saw the twisted snarl on the king’s face. It was obvious that the king was becoming enraged; he disliked seeing the masses so happy and filled with passion because, he claimed, a passionate peasant might decide to start an uprising. An unhappy Aerys spelt bad news for everyone. Rhaegar was suddenly very, very frightened for the mystery knight. He could hear Cedrik Frey muttering to his squire, trying to pull information from the boy as he saddled up. At this point, he was regretting not being able to ride against this person himself; he had a feeling that it would be an interesting match.

He watched the knight carefully and felt his stomach slowly begin to sink. He _did_ know that stance, he’d seen this rider before, he’d watched them from the sidelines every day for a week, cursing himself for his cowardice. He’d imagined running to them and pulling them close and begging for their forgiveness. He’d imagined riding beside them, looking over and smiling, laughing with them and saying; _“You’re so beautiful Lyanna.”_

His stomach clenched and, for the first time that day he was filled with ice cold fear. He watched, helplessly as she rode, feeling a stubborn lick of pride as she knocked Cedrick Frey clean from his horse, but he couldn’t help but notice his father’s rage growing.

“Oh Lyanna, you brave little fool.” He whispered.

Again, a horse was offered to the victor as tribute and this time, when she demanded nothing but for Frey to teach his squire honor, Rhaegar heard her voice hidden under layers of false deepness. He wanted to be angry, he really did, but as she trotted her horse passed him, he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.

“Wooooo!” the toothless woman screamed, “Get ‘em! Knock ‘em all off their bloody ‘orses!”

The next rider couldn’t keep Rhaegar’s attention and his mind started to drift back to Lyanna. She was in a dangerous position, whether she knew it or not, King Aerys didn’t forget offenses, even imaginary ones and in his mind The Knight Of The Laughing Tree had directly challenged his leadership. He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy her, woman or no and Rhaegar couldn’t let that happen.

“My prince,” ser Barristan whispered, “your royal father commands you to find the mystery knight.”

Rhaegar looked up at his father and sighed, the king had spotted him in the crowd and was staring him down, but Rhaegar was done being intimidated.

“I thought he might.” He replied, not moving.

“He says that, if you don’t find him, he’ll send Ser Ilyn Payne to do it instead.”

Rhaegar swallowed hard and clenched his fists at his sides. The threat was clear; _find the knight and bring him to me alive or Ilyn Payne will bring me his head instead_.

“I’ll find him.” Rhaegar promised; turning and disappearing into the crowd.

He searched through the empty tents as subtly as he could, knowing that Lyanna was too clever to change in her own tents. His heart was pounding in his chest as he imagined Ilyn Payne stalking through the same tents and dragging Lyanna before the king by her long, dark hair. Aerys would murder her on the spot for the crime of deceiving the king; Rhaegar knew it as surely as he knew his own name. He also knew that, the second her body hit the floor, the Starks and probably the Baratheons would start a war, a well-supported war, but somehow that seemed less important than the idea of seeing her lifeless body and knowing that he’d failed to save her.

As he poked his head inside a tent marked with a pale green crocodile, Rhaegar let out a sigh of relief.

“Lyanna,” he breathed, feeling the weight lift off of his chest.

The girl turned at his call, startled; strands of her dark hair escaping her braid to frame her sweat stained face. For a brief moment she looked confused but then her face split into a nervous grin and she let out a breathy laugh.

"Oh, it's you," she breathed, clutching at her chest, "You scared me."

"My humblest apologies my lady," he replied teasingly, "I did promise that we'd talk again, didn't I?"

"You did, but I was starting to think that-nevermind."

She was still wearing her mismatched armor and something seemed to be causing her some pain, making Rhaegar rush to her side. Without any prompting, he began to unlace the plates that protected her leather-wrapped calves, freeing her legs and trying to calm his frantic breathing. He could feel her eyes on him and, when he looked up, she was smiling gently. That alone was enough for Rhaegar, enough for him to warrant the risk he was about to take.

“I was just thinking about you.” She admitted.

Rhaegar smiled ruefully, picturing her lifeless body again, “I was just thinking about you as well.”

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I looked,” he replied, “stand up for me.”

She complied without complaint and Rhaegar began to methodically undo the straps that kept her armor on. After spending so long imagining being near Lyanna again, he thought that he’d have be prepared for how it felt but now, standing in that tent with the threat of his father hanging over his head, he was a little bit over whelmed.

“How did you know that it was me?” Lyanna asked as plate after plate came off her body.

“I recognized the way you ride,” Rhaegar admitted somewhat sheepishly. She looked back at him over her shoulder, a confused frown disfiguring her beautiful face. Rhaegar chuckled nervously and let out a breath, “I-uh-I may have seen you riding a few times, leaving the camp and such.”

“Ah,” Lyanna said, turning back, seemingly placated, “and what did you think?” she asked, her voice softening and becoming almost vulnerable.

Rhaegar was silent for a minute, removing the plate from her shoulder as he thought. From where he was standing, it felt as though the already silent tent grew even more silent, as though his opinion genuinely mattered to her. It was a surprisingly pleasant thought.

“You were magnificent,” he replied, honestly, “absolutely magnificent.”

He felt Lyanna’s muscles relax under her armor and he smiled, giddy with pride. He was at a loss as to what was happening to him, all he knew was that what Lyanna Stark thought about him mattered, it mattered more than it should and rather than running from the issue, he was just basking in the glow.

“Thank you,” Lyanna said; her smile evident in her voice, “I told you I was a knight.”

Rhaegar laughed as she shrugged off the last of her armor so that she was covered by just her leather riding pants and a man’s tunic. It was an endearing sight, such a small woman drowning in her brother’s tunic and it made Rhaegar feel rather fond.

“I never doubted it,” he promised, remembering himself, “but you have to help me scatter this armor now.”

Lyanna frowned, “Scatter the-why?”

“How much do you know about the king?” Rhaegar asked.

“Just that he’s mad.”

“Well, he’s convinced that The Knight Of The Laughing Tree is trying to turn his people against him. He sent me and a few of his other men here to find him and bring him back to stand trial for his crimes, but since _he_ is actually _you_ , I’m not going to do that.” Rhaegar explained. He reached out and grabbed Lyanna’s shield, smiling ruefully at the painted smile, “You’re a brilliant rider, I would hate for all that talent to be wasted.”

She smiled and brushed a strand of hair from her face, “Thank you.”

“Why didn’t you claim the tributes?” He asked, slinging the shield over his shoulder so that it rested against his back.

Lyanna shrugged and looked away, “I just wanted to teach them a lesson, that’s all.”

“A lesson in what?”

“Honor,” she explained, “I came across their squires beating and kicking one of my father’s banner men, Howland Reed, this is actually his tent.” She said, “I knocked the bullies around for a bit with a tourney sword and then took Howland back to my brother’s tent. Benjen patched him up well enough but Brandon and Ned kept going on about the damage to his honor and how he had to regain his reputation by winning in the joust, only Howland doesn’t know _how_ to joust.” She shrugged and continued, “ _I_ do. It seemed right that I should do it, you know?”

“Did your brothers know about your plan?” Rhaegar asked, strangely proud of the fierce she-wolf.

She was brave, there was no denying that.

Lyanna snorted, “ _No_. No, Brandon would’ve chained me up in my tent if he’d known that I’d planned to compete in the joust. Ned’s probably figured it out by now though, he knows me best.”

Rhaegar nodded, “You did a noble thing." he admitted, "Stupid, but noble.”

“How dare you ser?” Lyanna cried with mock offense, “I am a _lady_!”

“I’m no knight,” Rhaegar chuckled, “and you’re no lady.”

Lyanna threw her head back and laughed, smacking him gently on the stomach. It was a beautiful sight, and Rhaegar momentarily forgot why he ever did anything except think of ways to make Lyanna Stark laugh like that.

“True enough,” she conceded, “I’ve got too much of the North in me for that.”

“You’re fierce, strong and independent,” Rhaegar told her honestly, “I don’t see what’s so terrible about that.”

She shrugged, “Neither do I, but I thank you my lord, you’re too kind.” She looked around at the disassembled armor, “It seems that I owe you a debt, you may have just saved my life.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Rhaegar sighed, “I still have to figure out what to tell the king.”

“Tell him that I outrode you,” she suggested, “tell him that there was no sign of me.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Either way, I still owe you a debt my lord.” Lyanna insisted, “Name anything and, if it is within my power, it’ll be yours.”

 _Just smile at me_ , he thought, _just keep smiling and making fun of me, just let me be near you_ , his heart screamed. But he couldn’t say any of that, of course.

“Do you still consent to being my Queen of love and beauty?” he asked instead.

Lyanna giggled again, “When you somehow outride Barristan Selmy, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and my own brother Brandon, yes I will be your Queen of love and beauty.” She promised.

“Good, then we’re even.” 

"Good." 

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Rhaegar smiled, shifting the shield, "I have to go lie to the royal family." 

He strode out of the tent, both heartbroken and relieved to be away from the magnetic northern girl.

"Wait!" Lyanna called, making Rhaegar turn back. She looked flustered, blushing bright red, "Do you-will I see you again?" 

The prince smiled sadly.  _If I was a good man, I'd say no,_ Rhaegar thought,  _if I was a good man I'd tell you who I am right now and I'd tell you to stay away from me, if I was a better man..._  

"You will my lady." he promised. 

"Lyanna," she corrected with a fond smile. 

Rhaegar returned the smile, "Lyanna." 

_I'm not a better man._


	7. Was Not Spoken Of The Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna sighed as Ilya combed the tangles out of her hair, “Yes Ned, I understand, I won’t do it again.”  
> “Damn right you won’t,” Ned insisted, scowling so hard that he looked just like lord Rickard, “Lya if Brandon finds out what you did-“  
> “But he won’t!” she argued, rolling her eyes, “You, Ilya and myself are the only people that know about the joust so, please let it go.” Lyanna sat up and observed herself in the mirror, “It’s been more than a day Ned, move on.”

Lyanna sighed as Ilya combed the tangles out of her hair, “Yes Ned, I understand, I won’t do it again.”

“Damn right you won’t,” Ned insisted, scowling so hard that he looked just like lord Rickard, “Lya if Brandon finds out what you did-“

“But he won’t!” she argued, rolling her eyes, “You, Ilya and myself are the only people that know about the joust so, please let it go.” Lyanna sat up and observed herself in the mirror, “It’s been more than a day Ned, move on.”

Her brother sighed and ran a hand over his face, “You could have died Lya.”

She turned in her seat, “But I didn’t. I’m fine Ned, I’m completely fine.”

“But you could’ve-“

Lyanna pressed her fingertips against Eddard’s lips, sealing his mouth.

“Shhh.” She interrupted, “I’m fine.”

Ned chuckled breathily, something like relief in his grey eyes as he pulled Lyanna into a rough hug. She softened, patting her older brother’s back gently and assuring him that there was absolutely nothing wrong. She knew that he loved her then; that her brother had genuinely feared for her life.

“I’m sorry,” she relented, “I never meant to scare you.”

“I know you didn’t, but damn it Lyanna, do you always have to be so reckless?” he asked with absolutely no venom.

She didn’t answer, just squeezing him tighter as she tried to choke back her guilt.

“My lady, we have to get you ready,” Ilya prompted.

“Right, yes. Thank you Ilya.” Lyanna said with a sigh of relief, “I’ll see you soon brother.”

Ned nodded and, once he’d left, Lyanna let herself relax. She adored her brother but she couldn’t stop seeing him the way he had been on that first night, hugging Robert, letting him shame her and never even confronting him about it.

“So, Have you seen your special man friend again my lady?” Ilya asked with a knowing smile.

Lyanna blushed and buried her face in her hands, remembering the way her companion had looked when he first found her. With the sunlight shining behind his head, setting his hair on fire and highlighting his sculpted cheekbones he’d looked almost holy and it had taken Lyanna so completely by surprise that she’d been reduced to foolish staring, again.

“He’s not my ‘special man friend’ Ilya,” she blurted, “I don’t even know his name.”

“Mhmm,” she replied, unconvinced, “and whose fault is that exactly?”

“Mine,” she mumbled, fiddling with the frayed hem of her robe as Ilya began populating her hair with small beaded braids, “but what good would it do anyway? It’s not like anything can ever come of it.”

“You said that this fellow is a Targaryen, right?”

Lyanna nodded, “If not by name then at least by blood, he has to be.”

“Well, the Targaryens are a great deal more powerful than the Baratheons and you seem to have taken to one another, perhaps your father could marry you to him instead.” Ilya suggested.

Something funny happened in Lyanna’s chest when she thought of marrying her mystery man but it wasn’t wholly unpleasant, in fact she smiled a little. No doubt it would be better than marrying Robert but, no, she couldn’t allow herself to think that way. She barely knew the man after all, and in her heart she knew that her lord father would never consent to breaking her engagement, he would consider it the height of dishonor. So instead she just let out a long breath and shook her head,

“No, no I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Ilya nodded understandingly and moved on with her work, helping Lyanna into a light weight dress of pale lace. It hugged her figure in a way that she wasn’t used to, but it was customary for all women to wear white on the final day of a joust.

“Did you watch the joust yesterday my lady?” Ilya asked as she laid Lyanna’s grey-blue cloak over her shoulders.

“No,” she answered, tilting her head to the side to admire the way the beads in her few little braids caught the light. It looked like a million little raindrops, “I was still too stiff to move.”

“Is anyone important to you riding today?”

“Brandon,” Lyanna told the girl, “but he won’t win.” The handmaiden looked scandalized by her lack of faith and Lyanna quickly continued, “Prince Rhaegar is the favorite. He hasn’t lost a joust since he was a boy.”

“Oh, the Dragon Prince,” Ilya cooed, “what I wouldn’t give to spend a night with that.”

“Is he really that handsome?”

Ilya looked at her incredulously, “You mean you haven’t met?”

Lyanna shook her head, “Can you believe I haven’t seen him once?” Ilya frowned but continued with her work, dabbing vanilla and jasmine scented oils on Lyanna’s wrists and neck.

“I almost can’t.” she admitted, “I thought that all you nobles knew each other, especially in the great houses.”

“Well, we know _of_ each other,” Lyanna assured, “but no, I’ve yet to meet the prince. I expect I’ll see him at the feast tonight though.”

“The one for the king?”

Lyanna nodded, “It’s also the feast meant to honor the winning knight and his Queen of love and beauty.” She added, “So, if Rhaegar wins, it’ll be be a pretty Targaryen-heavy event.”

“Well the prince is gorgeous,” Ilya promised, “I’d climb him like a tree given half the chance.”

“Ilya, he’s married!” Lyanna laughed.

The serving girl shrugged, “So? Princes take mistresses all the time; I’d hardly be the first. I probably wouldn’t even be _Rhaegar’s_ first.”

Something uncomfortable bubbled up in Lyanna’s stomach.

“Do you really think that the prince has mistresses?” she asked.

“I was only teasing my lady.” Ilya said with a fond smile.

“No, but do you?”

"I don’t know, maybe. Not everyone’s as uptight about marriages as you northerners.” She pointed out, “Affairs are basically just another part of life down here."

The uncomfortable thing shifted again and Lyanna swallowed hard.

“Does that mean that Robert will have mistresses?” She asked, “Will he be _allowed_ to?”

Ilya froze, realizing her mistake and flushing with shame. “No, of course he won’t.” she promised, backtracking quickly, “Robert loves you my lady.”

“Mmm.” She replied, focusing on her reflection again.

Ilya’s face appeared beside hers in the glass, her sandy blonde hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, looking for all the world like the second Stark daughter. She rested her chin on Lyanna’s shoulder and gave the noblewoman a weak smile.

“You look beautiful Lyanna; I’m sure that, when he sees you, your mystery Targaryen will fall to his knees and propose right on the spot. Or maybe prince Rhaegar himself will fall in love with you and he’ll leave princess Elia and wed you in her place. Watch lord Robert Baratheon try and shame the future queen of Westeros.”

Lyanna laughed and rolled her eyes fondly, “Do you ever think about anything except marriage?” she asked.

“Of course!” Ilya responded, “Sometimes I think about sex.”

Lyanna laughed harder, endlessly grateful to her handmaiden for all her years of service and for being such a true friend; Lyanna’s only true friend it seemed.

“Come now my lady,” Ilya prompted, “the day is wasting.”

\-------------

Lyanna walked through the camp alone, with only her two personal guards for company. Her brothers had left for the jousting field at first light but her body was still sore and aching from her own rounds on the horse two days before and she took more time dressing than she should have. She could see other noble families on their way to the field as well and the excitement was palpable. It had been a bleak winter and the Westerosi had had very little to be happy about so this was an occasion that was sorely needed. In the back of her mind, Lyanna wondered if her mystery companion would be in the audience, or maybe even riding. She wondered if he’d acknowledge her, or if she should acknowledge him and some small, childish part of her wondered if he’d think that she looked pretty in her southern dress.

“My lady,” an accented voice asked, “are you on your way to the joust?”

Lyanna stopped and regarded the new arrival. He was a tall, copper skinned man with long wavy hair the colour of a raven’s feathers and deep black eyes that sparkled with intelligence and mischief. He was dressed in the Dornish custom, wearing an embroidered burnt orange coat belted at the waist over his bare chest. Around his neck he wore several pendants and he had a number of daggers in his belt.

“I am,” she said cautiously.

“Would you be kind enough to allow me to accompany you? I’m afraid that I’m quite lost.”

Lyanna thought for a moment while the man gave her a wolfish grin, putting the pieces together in her mind.

“You’re prince Oberyn of house Martell,” she declared, “the princess’ brother.”

He inclined his head in a gracious acknowledgement that somehow also seemed mocking.

“I am, and who might you be lovely lady?” he asked.

“Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.” She replied with a deep curtsey, “I’d be honored if you’d accompany me and my men to the tourney, your Highness.”

Oberyn offered his arm and she took it, letting the prince lead her in the direction of the tournament.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Lady Lyanna,” he started, “tales of your beauty are often told in Dorne.”

“Just Lyanna is fine,” she corrected, “and I thank you my prince. I must admit, I’ve heard a tale or two about you as well.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes. Even we northerners know to be cautious of the Red Viper of Dorn,” she told him, with a teasing smile, “although apparently our women are in more danger than our men.”

Oberyn laughed and it was a pleasant sound, if not a little bit savage.

“Oh, so the she-wolf has a bite does she? I’m glad. I’m sick of these delicate Westerosi flowers.” He joked, “Where is the spirit in this frozen wasteland huh?”

“You’re as much of a Westerosi as the rest of us my prince, and perhaps you’d be warmer if you wore a shirt under that pretty woman’s coat of yours.” Lyanna countered.

Oberyn whooped, and Lyanna saw that there was an air of wildness about him that she could relate to. Although, where she ran cold, he was hot, as though his veins were filled with liquid sunlight.

“When I find the woman that can wear this coat better than I can, that is when I’ll put on a shirt.” Oberyn chuckled, “In my opinion, it’s a waste of time to wear clothing when it’s just going to come off again.”

Lyanna tilted her head, “You make an excellent point your Highness.”

“I’m full of excellent points actually.”

“On your many knives I assume?” Lyanna asked.

“Of course, what else?” he retorted, his dark eyes glimmering with mischief as they arrived at the stands.

“Lyanna,” Robert Baratheon greeted, appearing like a towering ghost from nowhere, “I was beginning to worry.”

His blue eyes stared Oberyn down, but the Dornish prince just smiled and bowed to her, thanking her profusely for showing him the way before cantering off to the royal box gracefully, leaving Lyanna alone with her future husband.

“I haven’t seen you for some time,” Robert commented as he led her to her place on the stands, “are you alright?”

She gave him a wide, forced smile and nodded, “Of course I am. I’ve just been tired, that’s all.”

“Well I’ve missed you, Gods I’ve missed you,” he admitted, kissing her hand, “I’ll see you at the feast tonight, won’t I?”

“I’ll definitely be there.”

Robert’s face broke into a radiant smile, “Excellent. Save me a dance.”

He nodded to Ned and then left, and Lyanna let out a sigh of relief, collapsing into the seat between Ned and Catelyn Tully in the very front row. She shot Catelyn a tired smile, which she returned before Ned spoke up.

“You look beautiful, Lya.” He said, “White suits you.”

“Not as well as it suits lady Catelyn, but thank you Ned.” She answered, squeezing his arm.

At that moment, King Aerys stood; his thin white hair matted and dirty and his long, talon-like nails on full display. As he opened the tourney, his voice was raspy and weak and no one dared to even breathe too loudly while he spoke. As the king ranted, Lyanna searched the stands above her with her eyes, scanning for a familiar patch of silver-blonde hair and violet eyes. She saw Robert two rows behind her on the right, wrapped in his black and gold tunic and wondered, again how she was supposed to survive a life of being escorted around by him.

“-and may the winning jouster place this crown of winter roses on the lap of she who he thinks is the loveliest woman in attendance. This pair will be known as the King and Queen of the tourney and will open the feast tonight by breaking bread together. May you ride with honor.” The king boomed.

As he took his seat, the first two riders appeared on either end of the tilt and prepared to ride. As Lord Yohn Royce rode against a knight of the vale, Catelyn leaned over to Lyanna.

“Who do you think it’ll be?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Lyanna questioned, her eyes tracking the technique of the riders as Royce defeated the other knight.

“The Queen of love and beauty, who do you think it’ll be?”

Lyanna shot her an incredulous look, confused by the simplicity of the question, “Princess Elia, if Rhaegar wins. If someone else wins then who knows?”

“I think it might be Ashara,” Catelyn shared conspiratorially; “everyone seems to be completely enamored with her.”

“I don’t blame them,” Lyanna admitted, “shhh, here comes the prince.”

“And our brother,” Ned pointed out, not that she was really listening.

Rhaegar Targaryen looked magnificent in his pure black armor emblazoned with a red dragon that curved around his breastplate. He rode as though he were a part of his horse, pausing only briefly to survey the crowd. His helmet was plain looking, with a scarlet plume trailing from the top. In comparison, her brother looked plain but no one was foolish enough to believe him harmless. The pair rode at one another and the prince knocked Brandon from his horse with almost no effort, which was a real credit since Brandon had long been known as the best jouster in the North. Lyanna gasped, leaning forward to grip the wooden rail.

“He’s brilliant,” she exclaimed.

“He’d best be,” Ned countered, “he is the crown prince after all.”

Catelyn agreed, but Lyanna was lost to them, completely drawn into the action taking place before her, to the point that even her mystery companion slipped her mind. Hours and hours passed and it seemed that Rhaegar Targaryen was unstoppable. No matter who he rode against, no matter how well they rode, he was always better; too strong, too fast or just too clever to be touched. She desperately wanted to ride with him, just to see what it would be like to go up against someone that skilled, someone with perfect technique. The only indication of any weakness came when the prince rode against ser Arthur Dayne whose lance shattered against his shield, sending debris straight into the prince’s head. The crowd, including Lyanna gasped, but he simply shook his head for a moment to clear it and kept going.

“He bounced back quite well,” Ned commented.

Lyanna nodded in agreement, but she could see that Rhaegar had taken a significant hit. His stride was ever so slightly off, not enough for anyone but an expert to notice but enough to shake his confidence. As the final tilt approached, Lyanna realized that she was so focused on Rhaegar that she could barely remember the other riders at all, but she remembered ser Barristan. She’d admired him for years and, when they lined up, her body thrummed with excitement. By this stage it was late afternoon and while the riders prepared the crowd sipped on wine and nibbled on pastries, enjoying the day and passing the time before the feast began. The king lounged in his throne and gave a lazy wave to the competitors. In a second, they were off; once, twice, they missed each other, ser Barristan landing only a glancing blow to the prince’s helm but, on the third round, Rhaegar’s lance made contact with the older knight’s chest, knocking him clean off of his chestnut horse.

The crowd cheered and screamed and Lyanna was cheering with them as genuine joy rippled through their bodies. From her seat she could see the princess, Elia Martell, in her burgundy and gold gown clapping demurely, with a serene smile on her face, filled to the brim with the confidence of someone who knew that she was about to be crowned.

The prince pulled his helmet off, too far for Lyanna to properly make out his features and collected the crown of winter roses from his squire. It was a beautiful thing, the crown and Lyanna watched, just as excited as everyone else, as Rhaegar began to trot towards the stands. Something nagged at her as he rode, filling her with a sense of anticipation and dread. As the prince drew nearer, approaching the royal box, Lyanna’s smile slipped from her face.

“Oh no,” she whispered, too low for anyone to hear.

Because she _did_ recognize him now. How could she not? She’d thought about precious little besides his face for the past week; those sad, kind eyes that had made her feel so understood, those hands that had held hers and given her an anchor when she felt as though she was drowning. It was him. It was her mystery companion, the Targaryen from the feast, the one who’d lied to the king on her behalf.

She was struck dumb, but she couldn’t make herself look away. His eyes found hers and she watched, horrified, as he trotted straight past his wife-oh gods his _wife_ -who had already stood to receive the crown and stopped in front of her instead. For a long moment they just looked at one another, Rhaegar’s eyes wide and pleading with her to understand while she just tried to stop her heart from beating straight out of her chest; and all the while he was clutching that crown; that damned blue crown.

At first, Lyanna had sensed Ned stiffen and she’d felt everyone’s eyes burning into the back of her neck, but now they didn’t seem real. _Rhaegar_ seemed real though, he seemed solid and alive and so familiar to her that it made Lyanna’s heart ache. So, after a moment’s deliberation, she stood and stepped closer to the railing, waiting for him to hand her her crown. Something like relief flickered across Rhaegar’s features and she felt the urge to smile. _You’re a prince_ , she wanted to say, _what could you possibly have to be nervous about?_ But instead she just gave him the slightest of nods.  
All around them the crowds were deathly silent.

“For you my lady,” Rhaegar said, not bothering to raise his voice, “the Queen of love and beauty.”

“Thank you.” She replied.

“Well, I did promise you I’d do it,” he reminded her, attempting to joke.

She let out a nervous, breathy laugh as she looked down at the band of flowers.

“You certainly did.” She conceded, still shocked.

“Come and see me,” Rhaegar whispered, his voice taking on a pleading tone, “Just give me a chance to explain.”

Lyanna didn’t trust her voice so she just nodded, meeting his gaze briefly. He gave her a nervous smile and rode off, leaving her alone to turn and face what felt like the whole of Westeros, the crown of winter roses still clutched in her hand.

“Put it on,” her baby brother, Benjen, insisted, “you have to put it on.”

She shook her head, imagining the scornful things that people must’ve been thinking about her in that moment.

Ned cleared his throat, “He’s right. You have to put it on before we can leave.”

Lyanna looked around the stands, taking stock of the sheer number of nobles that had witnessed that and her heart sank. She whimpered weakly but, with shaking hands, lifted the crown and let it rest on top of her thick, dark hair.

“Wonderful,” King Aerys declared, “come up here girl.”

Lyanna was so stunned that she couldn’t move, the king sighed and clapped his hands, signaling for his goldcloaks to bring her to the royal box. Ser Jonor took her arm forcefully but ser Arthur batted him away and offered to escort her instead. She gave him a grateful look and leaned on him as they walked because her own legs were shaking so terribly. She cast one look over her shoulder and saw her brothers looking back helplessly and Robert Baratheon whose face was as dark as a storm cloud. Eli Martell stared too as Lyanna curtseyed before the king, avoiding the madman’s eye as she quaked with fear. Maybe he was going to kill her, maybe he was going to mock her, maybe he was going to force her to explain why Rhaegar would-

“What’s your name girl?” he asked, his voice rasping.

“L-Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, Your Grace.” She answered, still in a curtsey.

“Rise.” He permitted. She stood and he grabbed her wrist, turning to face the crowd of peasants who had been watching the entire scene with baited breath, “Well, what do you lot think?” he asked, “Isn’t she lovely?”

The tension shattered and the common folk began to cheer in earnest, calling her name and agreeing with the king. It seemed to please king Aerys, but all Lyanna could think about was Elia Martell sitting just behind her and Robert and her brothers witnessing this from the stands.

“I give you, the Queen of love and beauty; Lyanna of house Stark!” The king declared.

In that moment Lyanna felt it again, that certainty she’d gotten when she’d first arrived at Harrenhall that whispered that she had become a part of something much bigger than she’d ever imagined.

 

The time passed slowly, mostly because the king insisted that she sit beside him in the royal box while the jesters and bards performed but, eventually, they were dismissed to prepare for the feast.

“Remember my dear,” the king prompted as he stood to leave, “you and your family will sup with us tonight. Do try and look presentable, we wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone by being sloppy.”

Lyanna swallowed hard and nodded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Aerys laughed at her obvious discomfort and strode away, taking his guards with him. Lyanna stayed put. She waited until his footsteps had faded into the distance and then waited some more as the nobles filed out of their seats. _Rhaegar is nothing like you_ , she shouted at the king in her mind, _nothing!_

To stop her hands from shaking Lyanna clenched them together in her lap, squeezing so tight that her skin went completely white. She wanted to run away and hide. She wanted to jump on her horse and take off, never to be seen or heard from again, but she was a Stark, and Stark’s didn’t flee.

 _Stark’s don’t flee_ , she told herself over and over again, _Stark’s aren’t cowards, you are not a coward_. Again and again she repeated those words as though she were a little girl again, until most of the footsteps had faded and she was alone.  
Or at least, mostly alone.

“You are indeed very beautiful.” A voice commented, causing Lyanna’s head to jerk up violently.

Elia Martell stood before her, her dark eyes blank and unreadable as she scrutinized Lyanna. The Stark girl stood and curtseyed clumsily, blushing deep red with shame.

“Thank you your Highness,” she replied.

“I can see now why my husband chose you.”

Lyanna winced at the word husband but quickly replied, “I’m sure there was some mistake princess. He should’ve crowned you.”

Elia tilted her head up infinitesimally, “You are right, but who am I to judge my husband for crowning his mistress. In Dorne, this is not so uncommon.”

Lyanna frowned, “ _Mistre-oh no_ , no I’m not his mistress,” she assured the darker woman, “no, we just talked. Nothing happened beyond that, I swear by the old gods and the new.”

Surprisingly, this did not seem to come as a comfort to the Dornish woman. Instead something a little like pain flashed across her face and she looked down, swallowing hard.

“Well, no matter. I suppose that I’ll see you at the feast lady Lyanna,” Elia eventually said with a slightly forced smile. She reached out and touched Lyanna’s arm gently, “I hope that we can be friends.”

“Of course, your Highness.” She quickly agreed with another curtsey, “thank you.”

The princess looked, for a moment as though she was going to speak again but instead she just smiled and gave the Stark girl another polite nod, taking her leave. Her brother was hot on her heels as she left the Stark girl, the hot tears threatening to pour over her cheeks. The princess of Dorne practically ran from Lyanna Stark, wishing that she’d never laid eyes on her.

“Elia,” Oberyn whisper-shouted as he chased her through the camp, “Elia, sweet sister, what’s the matter? Surely you can’t be upset about Rhaegar taking a mistress?”

“But she’s _not_ his mistress,” she practically wailed, turning to face her younger brother, “didn’t you hear? Weren’t you listening? They just talked! He _spoke_ to her,” she let out an embarrassing sob, “he never-he never speaks to me. It would be nothing if they were fucking one another, but what if-what if he cares for her? What if he _truly cares_ for her and he leaves me?”

Oberyn looked on with distress, pulling her close and letting her sob into his coat as he stroked the back of her neck. The protective rattlesnake in his chest hissed and spat with fury but he just pulled Elia closer and tried to make her calm.

“Rhaegar is your husband Elia,” he reminded his sister, “he cannot leave you.”

“He’s the prince, he can do as he likes.” She countered. Oberyn had to admit that she was right. If anyone knew of the benefits of being a prince, it was him, “I love him,” he sobbed, “I love him Oberyn.”

His heart broke and he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “Either way, Lyanna Stark is engaged to be married to the Stag lord, remember?” he continued calmly, “Even Rhaegar wouldn’t risk starting a war for some woman.”

Elia looked up and Oberyn was relieved to see a glimmer of hope in her dark eyes. She looked so thin, so tired and weak that it made Oberyn sick with worry. He wished that he’d never let her leave Dorne. He wished that none of them had ever heard the name Rhaegar Targaryen.

“You’re right.” She agreed finally, her voice thick with tears, “everything will be fine. It _will_ be fine, won’t it baby brother?”

“Yes, sweet sister. Everything will be just fine.” He answered, only half believing it himself.

\-------

Meanwhile, Lyanna Stark was being led away by ser Barristan Selmy, a gentle man in person who managed to make her feel almost comfortable again. The rose crown didn’t have any thorns, but it pained her nonetheless and, by the time they reached the swarm of black and scarlet tents, some of her anger had returned. She stopped walking and ser Barristan stopped with her, obviously confused. Her friend was in there, waiting for her. Or was it the prince? They were the same person, in theory, but how would it feel being with him now that she knew the truth?

“My lady, I’ll be right outside if you want to leave at any point,” he promised, “we don’t keep young women prisoner here.”

She nodded and gave the knight a grateful smile, gathering up the shattered remains of her courage as she stepped into the tent.  
She wanted to be angry, she really did. She wanted to yell and scream and rage at the prince for lying to her but, the moment their eyes met and she saw his soft, nervous smile, her anger sapped away and all she felt was grief. He was still wearing his armor and there was a dark bruise forming on his right cheek where ser Arthur’s shattered lance had connected with his face. Without saying anything, Lyanna sidestepped him and looked for a rag which she filled with ice.

“Sit down,” she instructed, gesturing to the prince’s bed before she remembered who she was talking to, “please. Your Highness.”

He nodded and followed her instruction, flinching when Lyanna pressed the ice pack to his bruise.

His eyes stayed trained on her though, so painfully familiar that it made her confused.

“You can call me Rhaegar if you’d like,” he suggested with an attempt at a smile and, after a long pause, “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come.”

“I didn’t think that I had a choice,” she replied as she began to unlace his armor, the same way that he’d done for her two days before.

Rhaegar frowned, “Of course you had a choice, why would you-“

“You’re the prince! Who could possibly say no to you?” she asked; her voice cracking with emotion as she pulled off his shin guards.

“You,” he retorted, “you could.”

She stopped, so overwhelmed that a tear slipped out of her eye before she could force it back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, “There were so many moments when you could’ve said something.”

Rhaegar sighed ran his free hand through his hair, “I was afraid,” he admitted honestly, “I thought that, if you knew, you’d treat me differently or-“

“Or what?” she pressed after he trailed off.

“Or you wouldn’t want to spend time with me at all.” He finished and he looked so vulnerable that it made her heart pinch.

Lyanna swallowed hard, straightening up and taking a seat beside him on the bed.

“Is this your tent?” she asked, buying time to sort through the rush of emotions swirling through her mind.

Prince Rhaegar nodded, letting the ice pack fall onto the bed beside him. Lyanna looked around; it was big and well lit; the walls were red instead of black and there were piles of books scattered on almost every available surface. In the back corner she could see a simple, well used harp, half hidden behind a chest and she remembered him telling her that he wanted to be a musician. It was an oddly intimate moment, sitting there amongst his private things and it broke through her defenses. This was a tent that obviously belonged to her friend, the soft spoken, kind man who had helped her out of her armor and danced with her under the moonlight; not the fierce, proud Dragon Prince she’d been told to expect. Somehow, that made it both easier and harder.

“You have a wife,” she eventually said, her own voice barely louder than a whisper, “and a child.”

Rhaegar hung his head in shame and bit down on the back of his jaw, nodding.

“I thought that-“ she started not entirely sure what it was that she was trying to say, “I thought-“

“So did I,” he promised, turning to face her, “Lyanna I’ve felt connected to you from the moment we met. I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

“I don’t want to stop seeing you either,” she admitted sadly, “but Rhaegar,” she continued, feeling the thrill of his name on her tongue, “what other choice do we have?”

His name sounded like something magical coming out of her mouth and it took Rhaegar a moment to recover from it but, when he did he placed his hand over hers gently.

“There’s a lot about this that I don’t understand,” he admitted, “but I can’t help but feel as though I was destined to meet you Lyanna.” He swallowed hard, his sculpted cheekbones flushing pale pink as he continued, “And, if I’m being completely honest, I’m glad that I did.” He cast a nervous look at her, his violet eyes sucking her in, “I’m not sure if I know how to let you go Lady Stark.”

Lyanna smiled weakly, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve this kind of torment. She’d long since given up on the idea of finding love but this was definitely something, something new and different, something powerful.

“I’m not sure I know how to let you go either,” she responded honestly.

Rhaegar’s eyes burned with something like relief and he squeezed her hand tightly in his.

“Then don’t.”

"But how will that work?" she asked despairingly. 

He shrugged and brushed the tears from her eyes, his face creased with worry. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry." 

She shook her head, giving him a sad smile, "Don't be. You were just following the rules I set," Lyanna replied, looking around his tent again. She looked up at the prince, whose face was so earnest that he could've been a statue, "Rhaegar Targaryen, prince Rhaegar Targaryen," she said, testing out the feel of the word and laughing softly at herself, "gods above. What have we gotten ourselves into?" 

Rhaegar shrugged and chuckled along with her, more grateful for Lyanna's understanding than she would ever understand.

"I have no idea," he replied, "but either way, it'll be an adventure." 


	8. Not Enjoyment And Not Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Barristan Selmy was judging him, he was sure of it.

Ser Barristan Selmy was judging him, he was sure of it. As Rhaegar got dressed he could feel the old knight’s eyes on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t the kind of lustful, adoring stare he was used to from Jon Connington, it was the cold, calculating stare his father often gave him. He ignored it for a while, but he respected Selmy and his obvious distress made Rhaegar feel unclean. On any other day he wouldn’t have pressed the man, his knights were entitled to their own thoughts and feelings and Rhaegar didn’t like getting in their way but, tonight he was floating on a cloud of happiness and quite frankly, ser Barristan was killing his mood.

“What?” he eventually asked as a servant placed a heavy silver chain studded with rubies over his shoulders, “Don’t play dumb Barristan, you’ve been glaring at me all evening so come on, what’s wrong?”

The knight bit down on his jaw and gave the prince a stony look. He was a stubborn, honorable man, set in his ways and he held Rhaegar to the highest possible standard of behavior.

“You have a wife.” He said simply.

Rhaegar sighed and turned back to the mirror, “Yes, I do. What’s your point?”

“The lady Lyanna is very beautiful Your Highness but she’s an engaged woman. You shamed her and Elia both today.”

“Here I thought it was an honor to be the Queen of love and beauty.” Rhaegar replied, being deliberately obtuse.

Selmy raised his eyebrows at the prince, “I’m sure that it is your Highness, but it’s most definitely _not_ an honor to have your husband crown another woman in front of all seven kingdoms and it’s also _not_ an honor to be singled out by the crown prince with your future husband staring down your neck.” He pointed out, “Did you know that your father dragged that poor girl up onstage with him and made her sit between him and Elia? Do you think that that was fair on either of them?”

Rhaegar felt his blood freeze in his veins and his he stopped fiddling with his collar, looking over at Barristan sharply.

“ _What?_ ” he asked, genuinely afraid.

He’d never imagined-he’d never wanted-his father was a dangerous madman; he’d never wanted Aerys to know anything about Lyanna, let alone to have seen her and spoken to her. The cloud of happiness Rhaegar had been floating on since his last visit with the Stark girl vanished and the reality of the situation he’d gotten himself into began to register.

“And that giant of a Baratheon-what’s his name? Robert, how do you expect he’ll react to you laying a very public claim on his bride-to-be huh? The Lord of the Stormlands has a famously short temper my prince. It’ll take a great deal of groveling to mend his bruised ego and if you don’t, it won’t end well.” Selmy warned.

The mention of Robert Baratheon made Rhaegar’s mood sour even further and he scowled at his reflection.

“And don’t even get me started on you wife’s brother-“ he continued.

“Okay that’s _enough_ ,” Prince Rhaegar snapped, cutting the knight off, “you’ve made your point.”

Ser Barristan flinched at Rhaegar’s harsh tone, biting his tongue to keep from arguing with the prince. He loved Rhaegar like his own son, he believed in him, he fought for him and he was willing to die for him but, often he struggled to keep the same professional distance between himself and the younger man that he kept between himself and the king. Barristan had known Rhaegar since he was a child and sometimes the knight forgot that, while Rhaegar was his friend, he was also his prince.

“Yes sir,” he said instead, clasping his hands behind his back, “my apologies.”

Rhaegar let out a long breath and regarded himself in the mirror, regretting his anger almost immediately. He could feel the scaly, dangerous animal that lived in his chest prowling around restlessly and he took three long breaths to try and calm it down. His father called that creature _The Dragon_ , that part of him that was completely and uniquely Targaryen and that gave their family the power and the right to rule. Rhaegar wasn’t sure that there was anything _unique_ about the Targaryens, he was mostly sure that there wasn’t even anything particularly unique about being _noble_. It all came down to power and who had the most of it at any given time. The Targaryens may have been in power today but one wrong move could change all that forever.

His mind drifted back to Lyanna’s face, wet with tears and the way her voice broke when she whispered _‘you have a wife’_. He knew that Barristan was right; he knew that what he was doing was fraught with political danger and that this…whatever it was would be a massive risk. In his head, he knew that it would be easier, better even, to just walk away and let the world forget about this mess. Sometimes he even got as far as to start packing his cases for the trip back to Kings Landing, but then the thought about Lyanna’s smile, and the way her hand had felt in his and he got confused again.

Rhaegar’s first duty was to protect the Targaryen dynasty. That was a fact that had been drilled into him since birth but _gods above_ he was just so tired of it. He’d spent his entire life being careful and trying not to rock the boat and it had left Rhaegar feeling empty and drained. He looked at himself in the mirror, scanning over his dark grey doublet with the scarlet sash over his shoulder and winced. His crown weighed Rhaegar down despite its simplicity, the circlet feeling two times heavier tonight than it usually did. The thick silver chain that hung over his shoulders was painfully ornate and he hated it, he looked like a statue, there was no trace of Rhaegar himself in his reflection.

On a whim he pulled the chain up over his head, letting it fall to the ground and running his fingers through his hair to muss it up.

Slightly happier with his appearance, Rhaegar turned back to ser Barristan and gave him a small smile.

“I’m ready, let’s go.”

 

 

The banquet hall was beautiful and far more elegant than it had seemed on that first night. Tapestries emblazoned with the three headed dragon of house Targaryen hung from the walls and beautiful decorative trees, strung with lights, were scattered throughout the hall, giving the whole room a soft, magical feeling that made Rhaegar smile.

“It’s beautiful, no?” Elia asked as they walked together into the room.

Rhaegar nodded, “It is.”

Elia, he’d noticed, was dressed differently that night. She’d left her hair down and had little beads strung into strands of it. Her dress was silver and tight fitting and she’d had her handmaidens put a thin circlet of silver on her head.

“You look nice,” Rhaegar commented, trying to make up for his guilt, “you’ve changed your hair.”

Elia smiled and blushed prettily, giving her husband another adoring look.

“Thank you,” she replied, “you look very handsome tonight as well my love, only where is the chain you were supposed to wear?”

“I wasn’t too fond of it.” He told her, knowing that she would never understand the pure hatred he’d felt looking at himself in the mirror.

“Seven hells on this infernal procession,” Rhaegar’s father growled from his place behind them, “Move faster! The dragon doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Rhaegar flinched but encouraged his men to speed up, bringing them into the hall much faster. The noble families stood to receive them and applauded when they saw Rhaegar and his wife, whooping and hollering as he smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement. Ashara Dayne caught his eye and gave him a knowing smile, her pretty violet eyes so similar to his own that she could’ve been his cousin. He considered Ashara to be the sister he never had, someone sweet and kind and innocent who he needed to protect from unworthy men. Her brother Arthur always insisted that he had that part covered, but Rhaegar couldn’t help but to give his opinion on her suitors anyway.

As the royal procession made its way through the room, his heart began to pound. He could see the Stark brothers waiting at their joint table; the oldest one, Brandon, looked dark and resentful, Eddard looked solemn and dignified and the youngest, Benjen just looked curious. Rhaegar, however, barely even saw them, all he saw was her.

Lyanna looked beautiful, so beautiful that he heard a noise halfway between a gasp and a moan slip out of his lips before he could stop himself. Beside him, Elia stiffened, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Stark woman. Her long dark hair had been pulled into a braid and threaded with the blue roses that he’d given her that hung over her left shoulder. Her gown was made from cobalt blue silk with white lace over the bodice and sleeves which faded into nothing as it went down onto the skirt. The overall impression was one of a frozen river melting in the summer. She smiled at Rhaegar and Elia and curtseyed. It was clumsy and not half as elegant as Elia’s, but it made Rhaegar smile fondly and he bowed in return before bowing to all three of her brothers. His father appeared in a huff, storming over to his seat at the head of the table without so much as a look at any of the Starks. He took his seat and gestured impatiently for them to do the same.

The Banquet hall was flooded with the sound of chairs being pulled out and light chatter as the servants began to pour wine for those who wanted it. In all the commotion Rhaegar risked sending Lyanna a soft smile, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious to anyone how completely smitten he was feeling. Lyanna smiled back, her eyes flitting to Elia before refocusing on her own clasped hands. Aerys looked between Rhaegar and Lyanna, clearing his throat so that the whole table fell silent.

“Do you want to open the meal my son?” he asked with a wicked glint in his eyes, “Give a toast to your queen perhaps?”

Rhaegar swallowed and looked over at the Starks. Brandon’s hands were balled into fists as he bit down on his jaw, Eddard seemed to be trying to calm him down, but Rhaegar sensed that this wasn’t a tension that was going to dissipate easily. Quickly, he raised his goblet, forcing everyone at the table to do the same. He could feel the rising panic in his chest, but Lyanna’s silver eyes on him gave him something to cling to and he forced himself to be calm.

He met her eye and smiled, feeling the knot in his chest release slightly, “To you, my lady.” He said, surprising himself with how calm he sounded, “May your life be full and happy.”

“To Lyanna,” Benjen agreed; his young face bright with cheer.

Somehow, that broke the tension and even solemn Eddard Stark couldn’t help but smile.

“To Lyanna,” the table chorused, though Elia, Rhaegar noted, remained silent.

They drank as Lyanna’s face flushed with a combination of embarrassment and pride and she thanked him for his kind words.

“And to you my prince,” Brandon Stark said, raising his chalice again, “we wish you and your _wife_ every happiness and pray that the gods bless you with many children.”

Rhaegar felt the barb hidden in Brandon’s words and, judging by her face, so did Lyanna, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement anyway.

“Thank you Master Brandon,” Rhaegar replied, “Elia and I appreciate your prayers.”

“Tell me,” Aerys cut in, “whose gods exactly do you hope bless my son? The seven who guide us all or those trees you northerners are so overly fond of?”

Rhaegar watched Lyanna’s hand shoot out and grip Brandon’s tightly as though to hold him back, her face completely neutral.

“We pray to the old gods and the new for your son’s health and the health of his children, your grace,” she answered, sounding every bit as regal and sophisticated as anyone could imagine.

Aerys regarded her again, his faded purple eyes scanning up and down her body slowly. With one clawed hand he stroked his tangled beard and, with the other, he gripped the arm of his chair. His attention made Rhaegar nervous, but Lyanna didn’t back down, keeping her face blank and her gaze respectful. Without another word, Aerys turned his gaze back to his son.

“She really is a beauty, isn’t she?” he asked, looking back at Lyanna, “I’m glad to see that you took my advice girl. What do you think, Elia, do you think she’s a beauty?”

Elia’s grip on her cup tightened, but she forced a tight-lipped smile, “Yes your grace, Lady Lyanna looks beautiful tonight.”

“Is that why you’ve copied her hair?” the king asked, “Were you hoping to earn my son’s favor back by looking more like Lyanna?”

Elia looked stunned, her dark lips falling open as a hush fell over the table. The food was served in complete quiet, no one sure what to say to that. Rhaegar’s stomach dropped and Lyanna looked as though she was close to tears as the silence stretched, Aerys’ cruel smile showing how deeply the king was enjoying this little show of public humiliation.

“I think that you look lovely princess,” Eddard said, his voice betraying his gentle nature, “the beads suit you.”

Elia gave the northerner a grateful smile, her dark eyes filling with tears as she began to cut her meat. Rhaegar felt deeply sorry for his wife and he shot his father an angry look.

“They do,” he agreed.

He knew that it wasn’t enough, but what else could he possibly say? He couldn’t deny thinking that Lyanna was beautiful; he couldn’t declare his undying love for Elia; he couldn’t claim that Elia wasn’t jealous of Lyanna and he couldn’t take back what he’d done after the joust. Aerys leant back in his seat, letting everyone eat for a little while, while he schemed and plotted.

Conversation resumed gradually, with Benjen asking endless questions about Kings Landing and Lyanna smiling fondly at her younger brother. Rhaegar answered each question eagerly and without complaint, telling Benjen stories about the Red Keep and Blackwater Bay and the Sept of Baelor with a level of excitement that he hadn’t know that he was capable of anymore. It was refreshing, seeing everything the way that Benjen did, with new eyes, and soon enough the whole table, bar Brandon and King Aerys was laughing and contributing stories from their own childhood homes. Lyanna was halfway through a story about Brandon and her riding through the woods together when Aerys interrupted.

“So you like to pretend to be a man then, do you girl?” he asked.

Lyanna stopped, “No your grace.”

“Then why would you want to ride like one? A woman’s place is at home, sewing clothes and waiting for their husbands to bless them with an opportunity to become mothers, not to be out there making fools of themselves.” He explained, “If you were engaged to my son I’d have made sure you’d learned that by now.” He looked out across the other tables, where all the other nobles sat chatting quite amiably to one another, “Perhaps I should have a talk with young lord Baratheon about disciplining his future wife.” He mused.

Lyanna’s eyes watered and Rhaegar felt a lick of protective fire shoot through his body. He could see the cruelty in his father’s eyes, the sick pleasure that he was taking in making her feel uncomfortable and he knew that it wasn’t going to stop. He had to get Lyanna as far away from his father as he possibly could and, acting on instinct, he stood and offered her his hand across the table.

“I believe that it’s time for us to christen the dancefloor my lady,” he suggested, “would you like to dance?”

Lyanna gave him a grateful look and allowed him to pull her up and lead her onto the floor, bowing before her, as was customary. Silence fell and, as the music began, Rhaegar pressed his palm to Lyanna’s and they started to dance. He felt the customary shock of electricity run through him as they touched, but he pushed it back. Lyanna was still shaking subtly as they moved, and it took everything in Rhaegar to not squeeze her hand. From the corner of his eye he could see Robert Baratheon watching them, his face dark and stormy with suppressed anger and, from the look on her face, it seemed that Lyanna had seen him too.

“I’m so sorry about my father,” Rhaegar said softly, “I should never have let him talk to you that way.”

“And what _exactly_ could you have done to stop him?” Lyanna asked as they switched hands, “No, it’s not your fault it’s just that-“ she shivered, “he frightens me.”

“He frightens me too.” Rhaegar admitted and, for a while they danced in silence, before he said, “But this is still my fault. How did your brothers react?”

Lyanna flinched, “Brandon…he didn’t take it well.” She confessed, “He said some pretty harsh things, but Ned calmed him down. Benjen is just excited to be here. Overall I think that it could’ve been a lot worse. How about you?”

Rhaegar sighed and they switched arms again, “It’s been difficult.”

“Do you think we’ve made a mistake?” she asked softly.

As the music swelled, Rhaegar pulled Lyanna close, trying to stop himself from gasping as he felt her breath hitch in her throat. He felt it again, the cool surety that this, that being with Lyanna was something ancient and powerful and right, something beyond either of their control.

“I’ve made many mistakes Lyanna Stark,” he promised, “but you are not one of them.”

 

The night progressed beautifully. Rhaegar danced with Elia and Ashara Dayne, he talked with Lord Jon Arryn and many other important lords at length and managed to keep his father happy, even convincing him to retire early. However, his eye was never far from Lyanna. He watched her dance with Robert Baratheon many times, laughing and smiling as he charmed her, playing the part of the loyal fiancé so well that it made Rhaegar sick with jealousy. She also spent a great deal of time with her brothers, dancing with Brandon, Ned and Benjen. It was during one of these dances that Rhaegar saw Brandon Stark smile for the first time.

All eyes, he felt, were on Lyanna. She was magnetic and, as she twirled, her skirt flaring out around her like a halo and her laughter ringing out through the air, Rhaegar felt something in his chest click definitively into place.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” a voice to his right said.

Rhaegar Targaryen turned and came face-to-face with Eddard Stark, the long faced second-son of Rickard Stark. He was regarding the prince critically, as though he were testing him in some way.

“She is,” Rhaegar admitted, “but it’s not her beauty that makes her special.”

Eddard nodded, something like pride glistening in his dark eyes as he watched his sister dance.

“So you admit that you have feelings for her?” he asked.

“I do.”

“I’m the second son of a lord and you, well you’re a prince,” Eddard started, “I know that I can’t command you to do anything, but if you care for my sister, you’ll think about what your feelings might mean for her. Lyanna's a woman,” he reminded Rhaegar, “She has very few prospects in life that don’t include marriage, and who will marry her if they all think that she’s your-“ he swallowed hard, “your mistress?”

“She isn’t.” Rhaegar told him.

“ _I_ know that, but not everyone does.”

Rhaegar looked out at Lyanna again, feeling that tight nervousness in his chest that only she could bring out. She was dancing with Brandon and he was laughing at something she said while he twirled her. They looked so happy, so at peace together, that it made Rhaegar long for his own brother, Viserys. Eddard followed his gaze with his eyes and, in an act of boldness, clapped Rhaegar on the back comfortingly.

“I believe that you’re a good man my prince,” he swore, “I truly do.”

And with that, he walked away and vanished into the crowd, leaving Rhaegar alone and more confused than ever. At that moment, Lyanna caught his eye and smiled brightly, her silver eyes twinkling with a happiness that filled him with light. He smiled back without thinking.

“What have I done?” he asked himself, “What on earth have I done?”


	9. Was Our Destined End Or Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you smile in a long while, brother,” Lyanna commented as Brandon spun her around, “it’s nice.” 
> 
> He chuckled, “There hasn’t been a lot to smile about.”

“You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you smile in a long while, brother,” Lyanna commented as Brandon spun her around, “it’s nice.”

He chuckled, “There hasn’t been a lot to smile about.” Brandon pulled her close and smiled down at his baby sister, “But you look beautiful tonight, and we’re all here together, and I’ve been a terrible brother recently.”

“You haven’t been terrible,” Lyanna answered.

“I have,” Brandon countered, “you know I have.”

“Okay, you’ve occasionally been terrible,” she admitted, “but it’s been a tumultuous week. We’ve all been occasionally terrible.”

“Not Benjen.”

Lyanna laughed and looked over to where their youngest brother was sitting and talking to a few other noble boys.

“No, not Benjen.” She agreed.

For a while they swayed together, “I feel as though everything’s changing Lya and I don’t like it.”

“Me neither,” she admitted.

“Soon we’re to be married,” he continued, “forever. To people we don’t even really know.”

Lyanna nodded, trying very hard not to think about her marriage. She could see signs of her own fear in her older brother’s eyes, the quiet ache of uncertainty that plagued her obviously plagued him as well. The ticking of the clock rang loudly in both of their ears, deep and menacing and impossible to ignore.

“When did this happen?” He asked, “When did we get so grown up? It feels like yesterday that you and I were riding through the godswood together and Benjen was just learning how to use a bow and arrow and now…”

“Now,” she agreed, “we’re doing our duty for our family.”

Brandon nodded and looked out over Lyanna’s head thoughtfully. While he was distracted, Lyanna scanned the crowd with her eyes until she found prince Rhaegar. She’d felt the warmth of his gaze on her, so she wasn’t shocked to find him watching her dance, a gentle smile touching his face and filling her with light. He looked handsome and regal, wrapped in his dark grey tunic with his crown resting on his silver hair, but Lyanna’s favorite part of the entire look was the dark purple bruise on his cheekbone. It was the only part that seemed to be uniquely _Rhaegar_ , the man who’d ridden in the tourney and who’d risked his life to protect her. It was the only thing that showed _who_ he was as opposed to what he was.   
They hadn’t so much as spoken since that first dance but Lyanna wasn’t particularly worried. In fact, since King Aerys had retired, she’d had an amazing time. It had been so long since she’d felt this bright and care-free and she knew, deep down that Rhaegar was the cause. There was something magnetic about the man, something that transcended the fear that dogged her at every corner and made her feel safe. Even Robert Baratheon couldn’t bring Lyanna down. All night the man had been kind and gentle with her, making her laugh and telling her stories about his brothers. She was seeing a different side to him, one that wasn’t terrible and that, combined with the amount of wine she’d consumed, had her feeling almost hopeful about him.

“May I interrupt?” Robert asked, smiling enthusiastically.

Brandon snapped out of his daydream, something like a blush dusting his sculpted cheekbones as he turned to the lord of Storm’s End.

“Of course,” he agreed coldly, offering Robert Lyanna’s arm. He gave her a meaningful look and whispered, “If he does anything unbecoming…”

“I know,” she answered, turning back to Robert with a smile, “another dance my lord? What is this, four now?”

“Five actually,” Robert answered with a sheepish grin, “but I was hoping that we could do something different this time.”

“Like what?” She asked, trying not to sound too suspicious.

“Just sit and talk,” he suggested, “I realized that I haven’t really ever asked about you,” He led her to his table and pulled out a chair for her, “and I want to. I want to know you Lyanna Stark.”

Lyanna was so shocked by the turn of events that, for a long moment, she just stared at the hulking sculpture of a man that was her betrothed. He chuckled nervously, uncomfortable with the she-wolf’s blatant stare. He knew that he had a lot to make up for with Lyanna but he was more than willing to do whatever it took. She was the woman of his dreams, the future mother of his children and the love of his life and he needed her to trust him again.

“What would you like to know?” Lyanna eventually asked, feeling a defiant spark of hope flicker into life in the pit of her stomach.

Robert’s eyes, she noted, were alarmingly blue as they held hers, glimmering with a kind of eager sincerity.

He placed his hand over hers gently, giving her plenty of time to pull away as he leaned forward and answered, “Everything.”

And so, Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon had a conversation, a real one, for the first time since their first meeting, almost six years prior. Robert, Lyanna learned, was quick to laughter and jovial in nature, with a fierce love for her brother Ned and a deep-seated desire to be a good ruler to his people. He’d watched his parents’ ship crash and sink when he was just a boy, he told her, and that event had driven a wedge between him and his brothers, a wedge he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to breach. In return, she told him about her love for the north and the hole that her mother’s death had left in her family. Lyanna told Robert about how she’d hated him for taking Ned away from her and how she felt less like herself without him by her side. Surprisingly, she found that Robert listened quite well, only interrupting occasionally and asking relevant questions whenever he didn’t fully understand.

“You know, I remember the first time I ever saw you.” Robert told her after a long while of talking.

Lyanna nodded, thinking back, “autumn, six or seven years ago, wasn’t it?”

Robert smiled but shook his head, “That’s when we met, but that’s not the first time I saw you.” He explained. Lyanna raised her eyebrows questioningly and Robert blushed, continuing, “Okay, this is a little embarrassing but, when Ned and I were young, we would talk about what would happen when we grew up and, in my stories I always married some tall noblewoman with sparkling green eyes and long blonde curls. No matter how much time passed that was always the story, until one day Ned came running up with this picture-a portrait of his family from Winterfell-to show me. Now, he’d told me all about you, but I’d never gotten the chance to actually see what any of your family looked like. He was so excited, he missed you so much and he showed me the picture and I felt my heart just…stop.” He paused, giving Lyanna a nervous smile, “You were the total opposite if everything I thought I wanted. You were dark and you had straight hair and Ned said that you were quite little but, for some reason, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you. I didn’t say anything to Ned about it at the time because I didn’t really understand what was happening but, from that moment on, I always pictured you as my wife when we played lords.”

Lyanna didn’t quite know how to respond to that, how to put into words the tumble of emotions that Robert’s admission had brought out. She thought, for a moment, of Rhaegar, wondering how it would feel to be sitting with him instead but it was almost a halfhearted thought. The wolf in her cried out that Robert Baratheon couldn’t be trusted, it writhed and squirmed and fought to be free, but the woman in her couldn’t help but hope. If she had to marry him, the woman in her argued, wouldn’t it be better for them to have a happy marriage, even if that would require her to bend to his will?

All, in all it was overwhelming, but Lyanna knew that she couldn’t risk embarrassing her betrothed by running away, which was her first instinct.

“That’s very sweet of you my lord,” Lyanna finally said, giving the man a mostly genuine smile, “I wish I had some story to counter with but-“

“Don’t worry Lyanna; I know that this marriage wasn’t something you asked for.”

Lyanna shifted awkwardly, blushing, “Marriage wasn’t something I thought about as a girl.” She admitted, “I was more focused on my studies than on men.”

“Jon Arryn would adore you then,” Robert joked, “he was always telling me that I should spend less time worrying about women and more time worrying about the hiding he would give me if I couldn’t name every noble house in Westeros.”

“And can you?”

“Not a chance,” he laughed, “seven hells I can barely name all the houses in the Stormlands.”

Lyanna smiled at that and laughed along with Robert. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ned and Brandon watching something on the dancefloor intently. Curious, she followed their gaze and smirked when she saw that her brother had been watching a woman. Not just any woman either; Ned was staring at a tall, dark haired woman with warm purple eyes and a smile so bright that it lit up the room, Ashara Dayne, who was dancing with the handsome Prince Oberyn.

“Looks like our Ned is a little lovesick,” Robert commented fondly.

“Looks like it,” Lyanna agreed, watching as Brandon nudged Ned towards the girl, obviously encouraging him on.

What she couldn’t see was the hesitancy in Brandon’s eyes, the way he also tracked the lady Ashara with his gaze. She didn’t notice how Brandon’s eyes lit up when Ashara smiled, or see how his breath caught when she looked over at the Starks. If she’d been closer, maybe Lyanna would have felt the moment when the wild wolf in Brandon’s chest had turned from its moon to focus on a falling star with violet eyes instead.   
But she wasn’t, so she didn’t and the moment of danger went unnoticed. All she saw was her oldest brother approaching the Dornish woman on Ned’s behalf and the blush that covered both Ashara and Ned’s cheeks as they came together and began to dance slowly, leaving Brandon to fade into the background without so much as another look.

“That’s my boy, go get her Ned,” Robert boomed, his voice tinged with a fondness that endeared Lyanna to him even more.

“They’d be a beautiful couple,” Lyanna agreed, hoping beyond hope that at least one of her brothers would be able to find love.

“Not so beautiful as us,” Robert replied with a wink, “but attractive nonetheless.”

Lyanna, however, was no longer paying attention. She’d caught prince Rhaegar’s eye again as he watched Ned and Ashara dance. He was smiling softly at the pair but, when his gaze met Lyanna’s, it changed to something infinitely sadder.

 _‘Hello,’_ she mouthed at him with a small wave, her heart pounding as though she were a child

. His smile grew slightly and he waved back, too low for anyone but her to see.

 _‘You look beautiful,’_ he mouthed back, making Lyanna blush and look down.

The woman in her screamed at Lyanna for being such a fool. What did she expect to happen? Rhaegar was married, _married with a child_ and, if Elia’s swollen belly was anything to judge by, another one on the way and Lyanna herself was engaged. There was nothing but shame and peril waiting down this particular road, she was sure of it, but the she-wolf in her heart couldn’t help but hope and continue to howl at the moon.

The feast soon came to a close and, before she knew what was happening, Lyanna was being swept from the hall by Brandon, promising to see Robert again sometime soon.

“Where’s Benjen?” she asked her brother as they strode out into the night.

“He’s spending the night with the Umbers,” Brandon answered.

There was something bugging him, Lyanna noticed. He was restless and anxious, moving his hands aimlessly at his sides, his dark eyes flitting from side to side, as though searching for some hidden danger. Over the noise of drunken men and women, Lyanna heard lady Ashara’s ringing laugh over her brother, Ned’s and she watched as Brandon stiffened. The pair appeared before them, walking arm and arm, oblivious to the world around them and it made Lyanna smile.

“It would be a good match for both of them, wouldn’t it?” Lyanna commented, looking up at Brandon and misinterpreting the pained look on his face, “I’m sure Ned would enjoy it down south, or maybe she could move up North.”

“Come riding with me tomorrow?” Brandon said, ignoring her questions as he turned and gave her a pleading look, “I’m losing my mind down here, I want to feel the wind on my skin again.”

Lyanna was startled but she nodded, “Of course, I’ll make sure that the servants get our horses prepared.”

“Good, good. We’ll leave at first light.” Brandon said, more to himself than to her as they walked.

Something like fear prickled up in Lyanna’s stomach as she watched his face shift into deep melancholic thought Something was wrong; seriously wrong and, as Ashara Dayne’s laughter and Eddard Stark’s voice faded into the night air, Lyanna couldn’t help but feel as though she was standing at the edge of a gaping chasm, trying her best to keep herself and her brothers from toppling over the edge into nothingness.

“Brandon,” she started cautiously, “is everything alright?”

He looked through her, his eyes such a dark grey that they seemed black, his face so blank that it made Lyanna shiver.

“Of course,” Brandon answered, “what could possibly be wrong?”


	10. But To Live That Each Tomorrow Finds Us Better Than Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t like it,” Elia said, pacing up and down her room as she waited for her husband to return, “where is he? Is he with her?”

“I don’t like it,” Elia said, pacing up and down her room as she waited for her husband to return, “where is he? Is he with her?”

“I don’t know, I doubt it.” Ashara answered without any real conviction as she stared dreamily out of the window, “Ned says that she hasn’t seen Rhaegar since the feast.”

Elia snorted and crossed her arms over her swollen stomach, “And why would your precious Ned know anything? You think Rhaegar wouldn’t be able to hide an affair if he wanted to?”

Ashara recoiled, hurt by her friend’s harsh tone, “I don’t think he would need to hide it at this stage Elia,” she shot back, “every single person at this tourney knows that he admires Lyanna. If he was bedding her, someone would know about it.” She leant back and stared out of the window again, her eyes glued to the silver and grey tents of the Starks, daydreaming about her tall, solemn dance partner, “Plus, Ned says that she spends almost all of her time with Brandon, Benjen, him or Robert Baratheon. The poor thing is barely ever left alone these days.”

“Poor thing?” Elia spat, “She ruined my marriage Ashara; how could you sympathize with her?”

Ashara rolled her eyes, having had this same conversation countless times over the past few days, “Lyanna didn’t _ruin your marriage_ Elia. You and Rhaegar are still together, you’re still going to be his queen someday and, by all accounts he hasn’t even seen her. Lyanna hasn’t done a single thing wrong, she’s a good woman.”

Elia snorted again, but she let it slide. She knew in her heart that Ashara was right; the Stark girl wasn’t to blame for her insecurities, Lyanna had had as little control over her husband’s actions as Elia herself had and it wasn’t fair for her to blame her for them. Nevertheless she couldn’t get the image of Rhaegar and Lyanna dancing out of her mind.

She remembered how he’d leapt to Lyanna’s defense at dinner, the way his eyes had blazed with rage when Aerys had threatened her and the strange little choked out gasp that he’d made when he’d seen her for the first time. That look, that awestruck, open look had been so raw that it had made Elia feel as though she were intruding on a private moment, despite the fact that Rhaegar was her husband. If she closed her eyes, she could still see him smiling at Lyanna as though she was the sun, or the last cup of wine in Westeros and he was blind and dying of thirst. Elia knew that, in their year and a half of marriage, Rhaegar had never looked at her like that, not once.

Just then, the door swung open and Rhaegar strode in, his face blank and expressionless in the way that Elia had thought, until recently, was his nature. He nodded at Ashara, who curtseyed, and then took her leave, shooting Elia a warning look. The princess wanted to be angry, and part of her was, but mostly what she felt was the deep ache of rejection as she looked at her husband. Rhaegar really was unfairly beautiful even when he was filled to the brim with disquiet, as he was at that moment, she thought. There was a tension between them now, a distance. Maybe it had always been there; maybe it was just that Elia had finally noticed what had been lacking in her marriage.   
She’d been happier being ignorant.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked.

“Riding,” he answered honestly, taking a deep swig from his goblet of wine.

“With her?”

Rhaegar sighed, running a hand over his face to brush the exhaustion from his eyes. Every interaction between him and Elia had been like this since the feast three days before. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand, he did, but he was tired of it and, after the day he’d had, he wasn’t in the mood to argue. He’d taken Ned Stark’s words to heart and had been doing his best to avoid Lyanna for the sake of her reputation, an endeavor that had proved to be nearly impossible. Everything seemed to draw Rhaegar to the Stark girl and, the longer he went without seeing her, the more drained and empty he felt. It didn’t exactly help that Lyanna and Robert seemed intent on showing off their newfound happiness at every possible opportunity. The prince had yet to go a single day without seeing the pair together, walking along the riverbank or through lord Whent’s maze, laughing and smiling together with Robert’s eyes clinging to her hungrily, as though he wanted to devour her.

It made Rhaegar sick with jealousy, but what could he do? Robert was Lyanna’s future husband, it was in her best interest to find happiness with him and all he wanted was for her to be happy. _Happy with me_ , some small selfish part of him whispered sulkily, _not with him, not with someone who doesn’t deserve her, not with someone who’ll never be_ _able to be true to her._  Because he was certain that Robert wouldn’t. Monogamy wasn’t in his nature and, as sweet as love was, it couldn’t change a man’s nature.

“No,” he finally answered, “I went riding alone.”

“Why?” Elia asked, her voice alternating between accusatory and pleading, “was your little whore busy with someone else, is she bored of you already?”

Pure anger welled up in Rhaegar’s chest and, in a fit of rage, he swept the wine and platters of fruit from the small table before him, letting everything tumble to the floor.

“Will you stop calling her that?” he roared, slamming his hands down as three days of fury, jealousy, guilt and fear came to a head. Elia stood there, mouth gaping, shocked by her husband’s outburst. Rhaegar had never shouted at her before, no matter how biting her words had become. He’d always been quiet and stoic but, apparently, that was over, “What do you want me to say huh? What is it that you want me to tell you Elia? Because quite frankly I’m sick of this.”

“I want you to tell me that she means nothing to you!” She replied, raising her own voice to match his.

“Well I can’t!” he admitted, “I can’t tell you that because that would be a lie, so choose something else.”

“The truth then!” she countered, choking back her tears, “Tell me the truth. What are you two?”

Rhaegar let out a bark of feral laughter and threw his head back. The Dragon was awake now and it was keening and crying, aching for something he couldn’t have, something he could _never ever_ have.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked incredulously, shaking his head, “No, no you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!” she insisted.

“Fine,” Rhaegar snapped, “I crowned Lyanna Stark the Queen of love and beauty because I care about her, and I wanted the entire world to know it. I care about Lyanna more than anyone else, more than I care about myself even. When I’m with her, I feel as though I can do anything and being away from her kills me inside every single day. She is the single most amazing woman I’ve ever known and the fact that she can never be mine makes me boil with rage. Does that make you happy Elia? Is that what you wanted to hear? We’ve never slept together, we’ve never even kissed and yet still she occupies my mind more than anyone else ever has and I have no idea what to do about it.”

Elia’s eyes filled with tears and she felt as though her whole world had just crumbled around her. She’d never truly believed that Rhaegar had loved her, but before Lyanna Stark; she’d assumed that it was just because he wasn’t capable of it. Now, however, watching him break down in front of her very eyes, she knew that she’d been mistaken. Rhaegar Targaryen was capable of love; he just wasn’t capable of loving her.

“Are you going to leave me?” she eventually asked softly, her heart pounding with fear.

Rhaegar looked up sharply, “What? No-“ he thought for a moment, his face sad, “maybe, I don’t-I don’t know.”

As she witnessed her husband’s confusion, a desperate hope began to form in her mind, a plan that would keep Rhaegar tied to her for as long as possible.

“Be with her then,” she suggested, moving forward and placing his hand on Rhaegar’s shoulder blades, making her voice gentle and persuasive, “spend time with her; dance, talk, play your music for her, do whatever you need to do, just don’t leave me.”

He looked at his wife, confused, “I made a vow-“

“Yes, you vowed to be with me forever. You vowed to be my husband and to stay by my side until death takes us from each other. If fucking the she-wolf is what you need to do to keep that promise; then do it. You’re the _future king_ of Westeros my love, bed all of the north if you must, just keep coming home to me, keep me on your arm and I won’t hold you back from lady Lyanna or whoever else it is you desire, I swear it.”

Rhaegar frowned, shrugging her hand off and walking out of arms reach. “Are you telling me to take Lyanna Stark as a mistress?” He asked, looking at his wife as though he’d never seen her before.

“Until you tire of her, yes.”

“Elia, listen to yourself!” Rhaegar said with a disbelieving laugh, “She’s a woman, not a toy for me to play with when I’m bored.”

“You’re a king!” Elia insisted, throwing her hands in the air, “everyone’s a toy for you to play with, that’s how this system works!”

“Well maybe I want to be a _different sort_ of king,” he shouted back, “maybe I want to be a good king or maybe, just maybe, I want to be a good man more than I want to be a king.”

Elia surrendered, realizing that there was something that she was missing about her husband.

“Come; let’s go to bed my love. It’s obvious that you’re tired, you don’t know what you’re saying anymore.” She suggested, slowly resting her hands on her husband’s arms and giving him a suggestive smile, “Although, if your blood is still boiling….”

Rhaegar shrugged her off, “I think I should stay in the tents,” he said, still bristling with outrage, “I’ll see you tomorrow princess.”

“Rhaegar wait-“ Elia started.

But it was too late; the prince had turned and vanished from the hall, leaving her to curse herself for pushing him so. She wished that she’d never asked about Lyanna Stark, she wished that she’d never even seen Lyanna Stark. In Elia’s mind, Lyanna was the reason for all this misery. She could have lived her whole life with Rhaegar, never knowing that her husband was capable of such intense and passionate feeling, Elia would’ve been happy and that would have been enough. However, now Rhaegar had tasted the forbidden fruit and his blood sang for it, the way Elia’s blood sang for their lives together as King and Queen of Westeros, and nothing would ever, ever be the same. She touched the swell of her stomach, feeling the first stirrings of her child as it grew, sapping her strength to form its own.

“He’ll come back to us my love,” she whispered, “he’ll have to.”

She wasn’t sure she believed that anymore.

 

Rhaegar went to sleep fuming and his dreams were filled with flames and blood and the taste of ashes and salt water in his mouth. He was fighting in a battle, the scale of which he had never seen, up to his knees in water as he ducked and dived, swinging his sword through men whose bodies turned to dust at his touch. Somewhere in the distance he could see a wolf, or maybe it was a woman, howling at the moon and her cry cut him to the core.

When he woke up, his muscles were tense and stiff and he could feel his heart pounding at one million miles per minute. Rhaegar remembered his fight with Elia and groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He didn’t quite understand why he’d been so bothered by what his wife had suggested. By all accounts she’d just given him permission to do all of the things he’d secretly wanted to do anyway, he should’ve been ecstatic and yet, just remembering her words made him angry. To push the disastrous evening out of his head, Rhaegar forced himself up and got ready for the day.

He washed his face in a bowl of ice cold water to drive the sleep from his eyes and pulled on a simple black leather tunic and breeches, fastening a cloak around his neck and slinging a bow and quiver over his shoulder. With ser Barristan and ser Arthur following discreetly behind him, Rhaegar saddled up his horse and headed to the only place he knew no one would think to look for him; the archery range. It was clear and cold and far away from the thoroughfare of camp but, most of all, it was common knowledge that the prince wasn’t exactly a master archer. In fact, archery was the skill he was least accomplished in so, as he stood and shot shaky arrows at the target, he felt secure in his isolation.

The icy wind bit into his skin as he aimed, his bowstring cut into his fingers and his breath created clouds of fog as he breathed in and out slowly, trying to focus past the turmoil in his mind. Rhaegar felt taunt and drawn tight, as though he were the bowstring, ready to snap and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Ever since the feast, when he’d first felt that thing in his chest click into place as he’d watched Lyanna dance, he’d felt off kilter, as though part of him was missing. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that that part was Lyanna. He’d realized long ago that he wanted her, but what were his options? He couldn’t be the one that ruined her reputation, he couldn’t put his own comfort above hers because, if he did, what type of man did that make him?

He was so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the whizzing of the arrow until it literally brushed his right ear. The movement caught him so off guard that he jumped, cursed and dropped his bow, clutching his chest with fright as the traitorous arrow buried itself in the center of the target. Rhaegar turned in the direction of the shot and he felt his heart skip a beat, filling him with warmth as his muscles relaxed. Lyanna stood around ten paces behind him, a well-worn bow raised as though she’d just loosed an arrow, which she obviously had, and a look of complete concentration on her face. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was dressed in dark riding gear without any ornamentation. She looked harsh and powerful against the lush background, a Nymeria reborn with ice in her veins and steel in her heart.

Lyanna dropped her bow to her side and stared at Rhaegar for a long moment, her silver eyes impossibly sad as they regarded him. The prince didn’t know what to say so he just stared, feeling as though everyone else in the world had melted away and he was finally, blissfully alone with the only woman he’d been able to think of.

“I’ve missed you,” she told him simply, as though she hadn’t just appeared from nowhere.

“I’ve missed you too,” Rhaegar answered honestly, giving her a crooked smile, “terribly.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She stated eventually, her voice tinged with anger as she walked towards him.

Rhaegar swallowed hard but nodded, knowing that he’d never be able to lie to her. Lyanna’s eyes hardened and he noticed, too late, that her hands were shaking at her sides.

“Why?” she asked, “The last time we spoke you said, _you said_ , that we’d see each other again. What changed?”

“You’re engaged!” he answered, beyond frustrated.

“And you’re married!” she retorted.

“Yes, I am and that’s exactly the problem,” he admitted, hoping that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, “Lyanna what would happen if people saw us together? If anyone starts to suspect that there’s something going on between us then that’s the end of your reputability, the end of your marriage, the end of your prospects.” He explained, stepping forward, as though to touch her arm. Lyanna pulled away, her face disfigured by a deep scowl that hid the hurt and rejection she was so obviously feeling, “I’m trying to protect you!” he continued, fully aware of how pleading his voice had become.

“Well stop it!” Lyanna shouted back; sharp and biting, real rage and sadness flooding through into her voice, “Stop it, stop it, stop it! I am so sick of people thinking that they know what’s best for me; you, my brothers, Robert, my father, all of you just make these decisions on my behalf and expect me to accept them without complaint. Well you know what? No! No, I’m done being a side character in my own story. I don’t care who you are Rhaegar Targaryen, prince or no, you _don’t_ get to decide for me. If you’d rather we never speak again then fine, tell me that, but don’t use me, or my _reputation_ as an excuse for your cowardice.”

Her eyes were blazing with fire as she stared Rhaegar down, her body shaking with anger. The prince stepped forward and, on an impulse kicked his bow to the side, covering her shaking fist with his hand and sighing when a rush of pleasure shot through his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he told her gently, “I didn’t mean to-I know that you’re your own person Lyanna, I do. I just don’t know what to do here.”

“Neither do I,” she replied with a sad, rueful laugh, “this wasn’t exactly my plan.”

“No, I don’t suppose it was,” Rhaegar agreed.

He looked at her and saw, for the first time, how his actions must have looked from her perspective. She’d put herself out there for him, she’d given him her name and her trust and, even after she found out who he was, she’d swallowed her pride and come back to him anyway. In every possible way, Lyanna Stark had given him her trust and, at the first sign of trouble, he’d abandoned her. He couldn’t imagine how terrible she must have been feeling.

He remembered Elia’s voice; _‘If fucking the she-wolf is what you need to do to keep that promise; then do it’_.

He didn’t want to _fuck_ Lyanna Stark, he wanted to hold her close and listen to her breathing. He wanted to ride beside her and play his music for her and cheer when she made good shots with her bow. Rhaegar wanted to _be_ with Lyanna, to really be with her. At night, he imagined himself in Robert Baratheon’s place, walking beside her as she held his arm, laughing together, at peace with the world and safe the knowledge that they were each other’s, completely. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.

“I care about you,” he told her softly, “so much, I never lied to you about that, I swear it.” Her hand uncurled in his and, without thinking, he tangled their fingers together, making Lyanna’s breath catch in her throat, “I’m just afraid of what’s going to happen. I’m the crowned prince Lyanna, there are always people watching my every move and, because of that, they’re watching you too. If something happened to you because of me…” he shook his head, trying to push the image of a lifeless Lyanna lying at his father’s feet out of his mind. Without meaning to, he tightened his grip on her hands, “I don’t know what I’d do; I really don’t.”

Lyanna’s face softened and she squeezed his hand in return, “Are you talking about your father?” he nodded, his violet eyes deep and sad and Lyanna sighed, “Rhaegar, no one is going to do anything to me. I’m fine.”

“I’m not only worried about my father, I’m worried about Robert and your brothers and your father and all the tens of thousands of people that are going to judge you for even being near me.” Rhaegar told her.

Lyanna frowned, “Will you judge me?”

Rhaegar’s head shot up, “What?”

“Will you be judging me for wanting to spend time with you?” she repeated.

“No, no of course I won’t, but Lyanna, my feelings for you-they aren’t-I can’t control them anymore. The way I feel, it’s-“ He stammered, struggling to put into words the way his life had changed since she’d known him and the deep ache in his chest that was both the best and most torturous feeling he’d ever experienced, “it’s-“

“Like you can’t breathe unless we’re together?” she suggested quietly, “Like, for your whole life the world was in black and white, and no one else noticed but now, finally, there’s colour?” she continued, “Like-like you were sleepwalking and now you’ve woken up?”

Rhaegar’s heart pounded in his chest like a kick drum as he looked up and met Lyanna’s eye, the shards of silver glimmering with a mixture of amusement and deep understanding.

Slowly, he nodded, “Yes, yes exactly. You feel it too?”

“Of course I do,” she replied with a gentle laugh, the sound lifting a physical weight off of Rhaegar’s shoulders, “of course I do Rhaegar, do you honestly think that I’d be out here, making a fool of myself every other day if I didn’t feel something for you?”

The prince chuckled along with her, a goofy smile plastered all over his face as happiness bubbled up in his stomach, making him feel like a boy again.

“I didn’t think, I hoped but-well I didn’t really want to hope.” He explained, feeling the blood rush to his face.

Lyanna shook her head incredulously, “You’re an idiot, Rhaegar Targaryen,” she said fondly, “a complete and utter idiot.”

He laughed, feeling relaxed and at peace for the first time in days as he tilted his head back and felt the sun on his skin.

"I suppose I am." he conceded, pulling Lyanna down so that they were sitting side-by-side in the grass. 

For a long while, the pair just sat there together, letting the sun soak into their skin as they basked in the pleasure of being together, of being _w_ _anted_ and  _understood_ by someone else. Rhaegar had no idea what he was doing. There was no happy ending to this story, he was sure of it, but nevertheless he stayed, happier to be spending an hour with Lyanna than he was spending a whole day with anyone else. 

"Do you want to go for a ride?" Lyanna eventually asked, "No one'd expecting me home for another few hours."

Rhaegar looked over at Lyanna, marveling at the way the sunlight caught her hair and caressed her skin, bathing her in warm light and making her look almost saint-like in her beat up riding gear. He was so screwed. 

"I'd love that." 


	11. Art Is Long And Time Is Fleeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna had no idea when her life had become this complicated but, as she watched Rhaegar throw back his head and laugh, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight, she couldn’t seem to make herself care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, (Spoiler Alert!) in honor of FINALLY BEING GIFTED WITH CONFIRMATION OF A RHAEGAR/LYANNA MARRIAGE! Here's a suuuuuuuper super long chapter. Hope you like it.

Lyanna had no idea when her life had become this complicated but, as she watched Rhaegar throw back his head and laugh, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight, she couldn’t seem to make herself care. They’d been riding for a few hours now, stopping to drink from cool streams and walk in particularly beautiful patches of wood. He rode as though he’d been born on a horse, manipulating his grey mare with the slightest touch of the reigns. The dappled light that filtered through the trees cast a soft glow over them both and Lyanna was more relaxed than she could remember being in weeks. Balerion tugged on his reigns, testing her control and asking why they were going so slowly. She clapped his neck gently, making comforting sounds to calm him down.

“Willful one, isn’t he?” Rhaegar asked.

Lyanna smiled proudly, “You could say that, Balerion and I practically grew up together.”

“Balerion?” Rhaegar laughed, “As in Balerion the Black Dread?” Lyanna nodded and Rhaegar burst out laughing again, “That’s brilliant and, you know what they say, the horse takes after the rider.”

“So I’ve heard,” she agreed, gesturing to his horse with her head, “what’s her name?”

“Winter,” he admitted.

“She’s beautiful,” Lyanna told him with a wicked grin, “but the question is, is she fast?”

And, with that, she nudged Balerion into a canter and then into a full gallop, whooping into the air as she felt the rush of speed. She stood up on her stirrups, feeling the wind whip through her hair as she flew across the woods. Behind her, she could hear Rhaegar laughing and cheering as he pushed Winter to follow. The pair raced across the hills and shot out of the forest like a pair of arrows, adrenaline pushing them to go faster and faster. Soon enough, Rhaegar was coming up on Lyanna’s left, gaining ground but not quite able to close the gap. She smiled back at the prince and briefly wondered if there was anything better than this. Probably not.

Eventually, when the first few tents came into sight, Lyanna brought Balerion to a stop, Winter and Rhaegar following just a few seconds later. They were both panting and windswept, flushed red and smiling from ear to ear. Rhaegar looked adorable with his hair mussed up and his cheeks rosy pink with the afternoon sun wrapping him in a cocoon of gold. Something warm and soft inflated in her chest as she studied him, something different to anything she’d felt for her betrothed. Even with all the progress her and Robert had made, there was something missing, something that, in these moments, looked and felt a lot like Rhaegar.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked with a small smile after he realized that she’d been watching him.

Lyanna shrugged, “Nothing really.”

“Robert?” he prompted.

“You.” She corrected, chuckling when it made Rhaegar’s face flush and he looked down bashfully. She looked out over the sea of tents, the black and yellow of the Baratheon’s catching her eye. Lyanna sighed, feeling the dreariness of reality sinking back in, “I wish we didn’t have to go back.”

“Me too,” Rhaegar agreed, staring sadly up at the castle, “but I’ll see you tonight, won’t I?”

Lyanna smiled and reached over to hold his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Definitely.”

“It’s going to be tough, isn’t it? Seeing you with Robert and me with Elia.”

She pursed her lips, “I care for Robert; I do.”

“And I care for Elia,” Rhaegar countered, “just not the way I care for you.” He paused for a moment, “If you want to pursue happiness with Robert I won’t stand in your way, I swear it by the old gods and the new,” he eventually continued, “but that isn’t a possibility for me and Elia, too much has happened.”

“You mean _I_ happened.” Lyanna corrected unhappily.

Rhaegar’s face softened, “No, Lya, Elia and I were unhappy long before you and I met, but before you I didn’t know that there was any real alternative. I thought-well I don’t really know what I thought.”

“She loves you.” Lyanna commented, remembering the way the princess had looked when Rhaegar had rode his horse straight past her and crowned Lyanna instead, “She really loves you.”

“She loves the idea of me,” he admitted, “she loves that I’ll be king someday and she loves that she’ll be queen.”

“All of those things are true though,” she pointed out, “so is there really a difference?”

Rhaegar let out a bark of laughter that was more sad than cruel, “Yes, there really is.” He looked back at her with a strange look on his face, as though she were a riddle he was still trying to solve, “I’m glad that you and Robert are getting closer though.”

“No you’re not.” She laughed.

“No, I’m really not,” he agreed, “but I’m glad that lord Baratheon is finally treating you properly, if he doesn’t-“

“If he doesn’t, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” She interrupted with a fond smile.

“You won’t have to, I’ll just have him beheaded,” Rhaegar joked with a subtle wink.

Lyanna laughed and wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to kiss that crooked grin off of Rhaegar’s face.

Instead she blurted, “I have to go. Otherwise my brothers will start to worry.”

“Well, I’ll see you in a few hours then my lady,” Rhaegar said.

“You’re really coming to the feast?” she asked incredulously, “Even though Robert’s hosting?”

Rhaegar smiled gently at her, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing them firmly to her knuckles. Electricity shot up Lyanna’s arm, warmth flooding from the point where his lips touched her skin.

“For the chance to see you again Lyanna? Of course I am.”

 

Robert Baratheon was upset, but of course he didn’t want Ned to know that; precious, honorable Ned with his solemn face and his incessant talk of duty. He was more of a brother to Robert than Stannis and Renly had ever been and he loved the man dearly, but Ned wouldn’t take to hearing him complain about Lyanna, not after that serving wench. It wasn’t that he didn’t know that he’d fucked up, he did, but it was as though Ned couldn’t let it go. Every time they spoke, Robert felt the licks of judgement coming from the younger Stark’s eyes and it made him deeply, deeply uncomfortable, especially on days like this, where Lyanna was missing in action.

“She’s not _missing_ ,” Ned insisted, after Robert eventually expressed his concern, “she’s with Ashara.”

“But she should be here, where we can look out for her,” Robert countered, “there’s a lot of unsavory characters out there Eddard.”

“Like Rhaegar Targaryen?” Ned sighed, “Is that what this is about?”

Robert scoffed, but flushed anyway, “No! No, why would I be worried about Rhaegar?”

“Um, because he crowned her the Queen of love and beauty?” Ned laughed, “Because he himself is a crown prince while you’re only a lord? There’s a ton of reasons.”

“That? I’d almost forgotten about that,” he lied, “plus, Rhaegar got it right, Lyanna was, in my opinion the most beautiful woman there by far. If anything, I’m just glad that our prince has enough sense to see it too.”

Ned rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say Rob.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not safe out there for a woman on her-“

“She’s not on her own, she’s with Ashara. Everything’s fine Robert,” he insisted, “Lyanna is a woman grown, not some helpless child.”

“She’s not a man either.” Robert warned.

And, to that, Ned just sighed.

 

Across camp, Lyanna Stark was groaning into a pillow while Ashara Dayne laughed and poked at her.

“Stop! I really don’t want to hear about my brother’s love life, it’s too odd.” Lyanna said, burying her face further into the pillow.

“But he’s just sooooooo dreamy,” Ashara teased, nudging the younger girl with her elbow, “he’s just perfect.”

“He is,” Lyanna agreed with a sigh, “is he kind to you?”

“The kindest,” she promised, “he comes to see me every day, or he at least writes to me, and he’s always so respectful and sweet and gentle. Honestly Lya, I never expected to feel like this.”

Lyanna smiled and squeezed Ashara’s hand, “I think that that’s brilliant Shar, I hope you make each other very happy.”

“Me too.” Ashara smiled, “And who knows, if all goes well, you and I may be sisters soon.”

“We can only hope.” She agreed.

Just then, a squire came running into the tent and presented a letter to Ashara with a deep bow. The noblewoman took it and her face broke into a wide smile. As the squire exited she twirled, squealing with happiness as she clutched the piece of paper to her chest. Lyanna smiled fondly at the girl. She had become close to the younger Dayne over the last week and, as of now, she was the only person who knew about Lyanna’s true feelings for Rhaegar. Well, Ilya knew too.

“Is it from Ned?” she asked.

Ashara didn’t answer, ripping the letter open and scanning through it with her eyes. Lyanna watched as the smile slowly slid of Ashara’s face and she started to look gloomy and confused.

Lyanna sat up, “What is it? Is he being cruel?”

She shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand as she frowned.

“No,” she answered, “it’s not from Ned.”

“Who’s it from then?” Ashara looked up, something like fear glimmering in her startlingly purple eyes, “Brandon.”

Her heart stopped, “Brandon-my Brandon? Brandon Stark?”

Ashara nodded, “He says he-well-he writes that he loves me. He wants me to be with him instead of Ned.” She explained, “He says that he wanted to talk to me after the joust, but he got too scared. He thought he could hide his feelings but seeing me with Ned-he-oh Lya, what am I going to do?”

Lyanna choked back her anger, though _who exactly_ she was angry at was yet to be decided. She knew that Brandon was sometimes selfish but this was a new level, even for him. In fact, it was so selfish that it didn’t seem like Brandon at all. Some voice in the back of her mind whispered that she hadn’t been acting very much like herself either, but she pushed it away.

“What do you want to do?” she asked, “Do you want to be with Brandon?”

“I don’t know,” she said, extraordinarily pretty even when she was distressed, “At first, maybe, I mean Brandon was so handsome and so charming, I would’ve killed to be his. I knew he fancied me a little, he’s been writing me every few days or so. I thought it was harmless you know? Just some crush, just a little bit of fun,” she admitted, “but now-“ Ashara shook her head, pressing a hand to her temple, as though to steady herself, “now I-I love Ned. I love Ned, Lyanna, I want him, there’s no one else for me.”

Lyanna’s breath caught in her throat, “You love him?”

Ashara covered her mouth with her hand but nodded, laughing incredulously.

“I do, I love him,” She admitted.

Lyanna stood and pulled the other girl into a tight hug, feeling shaken and unsteady.

“That’s good, it’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she assured, “I’m happy for you.”

“Can people fall in love so fast?” Ashara asked, “It doesn’t even seem real.”

“Love happens whenever it’s supposed to; we have no control over that.” Lyanna answered, taking the crumpled letter from Ashara’s hand, committing to asking her brother about it at the earliest opportunity.

“Like with you and the prince?” Ashara prompted, “You can tell me, you know, I won’t judge you.”

Lyanna sighed and the girls took a seat on one of the many couches in the Dayne’s tent. She thought for a long time, running through the events of the past few days in her mind. Somehow, without her noticing, everything in Lyanna’s world had started to crumble. Her family, which had always been so strong and stable, was falling apart and she had absolutely no idea how to go about fixing it. How had she missed the fact the Brandon, her oldest brother, had fallen in love with the woman her younger brother was courting? How had she let herself become so distracted that these things had slipped her mind? _Rhaegar_ , something inside of her whispered, _Rhaegar, Rhaegar, Rhaegar_. Her mind was buzzing with shame and anger, but her heart just pounded away the same name, over and over again.

“You’re Elia’s best friend,” Lyanna reminded her, “how are you not furious with me?”

“I’m Elia’s lady-in-waiting,” Ashara corrected, “and you aren’t to blame for Rhaegar’s mistakes. He’s a good man.”

“He is,” she agreed, “he’s a really, really good man.” Lyanna sighed and rested her head in her hands, “But so is Robert, how can I betray him? It’s my duty to marry him and I can’t shy away from my duty.”

“And your heart; is it with Robert now?” Ashara asked pointedly.

Lyanna gave her an unimpressed look, “No, obviously not, but I do care about him.”

“Enough to marry him though?”

“What choice do I have? The match is made, the deal is done, and I’m a bought and owned woman.” Lyanna replied with a shrug, doing her best to pretend that the words didn’t taste like ashes in her mouth.

“No choice at all, that’s the point!” Ashara exclaimed, clasping her hand tightly, “You’re to be married soon, why not live a little while you’ve got the chance?”

Lyanna thought about her feelings for Rhaegar, the incessant tug of her heart against her ribs when he was near, the way her breath caught when he smiled at her and the shock of excitement she’d felt when his lips had brushed her knuckles. Just the memory made her flush and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes as she collapsed backwards onto the couch.

“But how will I live when it comes to an end?” she countered weakly.

Ashara sighed and lay back next to her friend, feeling a deep, aching sympathy in her tender heart.

“All the best things come to an end Lya, that’s just the way things are. We take what we can get while we can get it, and when life takes it all away, we’re left to pick up the pieces.”

Ashara’s words echoed in Lyanna’s ears like a warning bell for the rest or the day, following her around as Robert escorted her to his dining tent. He’d been nearly catatonic when she’d finally returned to her campsite, fussing over her safety and wellbeing and begging her to be more careful in the future. Careful of _what_ Lyanna still wasn’t exactly sure, but she nodded and smiled anyway; accepting his gifts graciously and trying very hard to force back her guilt. The gown that she was wearing now was one of those gifts. It was, objectively a beautiful dress and she knew that it looked stunning on her. Robert had been bragging about the designers in Storm’s End and so Lyanna had tried her best to love it, but it just wasn’t her style. The gown was made from pale gold silk with a beaded bodice and a tight corset and sleeves that hung down her sides. It was elegant and lavish and beautiful, but it was also stifling and uncomfortable and made Lyanna feel like a trophy on Robert’s arm. He’d had her hand maidens place a crown of golden roses on her head as well, with individual petals strung through her hair, which had made her stomach drop the first time she’d seen it. Lord Baratheon was sending a very clear message to the nobles of Westeros; _I don’t care what you think happened, this woman is mine and there is nothing any of you can do to stop it._

The tent was decorated in golds and blacks, the Baratheon colours, and no expense had been spared. There was food, wine, performers, and musicians, anything anyone could imagine, Robert had brought to life for that evening and even Lyanna had to admit that it was beautiful. As custom dictated, she greeted Robert’s guests by his side, playing the hostess with about as much elegance as she could muster. There were so many guests that, soon enough, the faces began to blur into one and Lyanna felt as though her head were spinning and she started to daydream.

“Good evening my lady,” a deep, rumbling voice greeted with just a hint of humor, “my lord.”

Lyanna’s head shot up and she smiled sheepishly, dipping into a low curtsey. Prince Rhaegar looked as handsome as ever with a circlet-gold this time-resting on his thick, silver-blonde hair. His purple eyes flashed under the candlelight, scanning over her body and raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“My prince, we are honored by your presence,” she greeted teasingly, gesturing at Robert subtle roll of her eyes.

Rhaegar nodded to show that he understood.

"That we are,” Robert agreed, bowing stiffly, “you as well princess.”

Elia Martell was staring intently at Lyanna; her dark eyes, which were tinged with red, narrowed at the younger girl as though she could wish her away. Lyanna felt a rush of embarrassment under the Dornishwoman’s gaze but she swallowed it down and curtseyed again. Elia rested a hand on her very prominent baby bump and tipped her head in acknowledgement. She had pulled her raven hair back again, making her look harsh and frail and some part of Lyanna feared for her health.

“We hope that you enjoy the feast,” Robert continued after the pause had stretched just a moment too long, clearly dismissing the royals.

“Of course,” Rhaegar agreed, barely pulling his eyes away from the Stark girl, “Lord Robert, Lady Lyanna.”

Once she was allowed to take her seat with her family, Lyanna felt the inevitable pull of Rhaegar Targaryen and she looked up to find him seated across the hall from her. He was smiling and laughing at something one of his knights had said, the gold of his circlet reflecting the light, his laughter warm and soothing to her ears. Her mind wanted to call to him, to run to him and pull him close and hold his face in her hands. She wanted to be with him, away from the mess that was politics, somewhere where they could just be together without fear. As though he’d heard her, Rhaegar turned and caught her eye, smiling gently and raising his goblet to silently toast Lyanna’s health. The glimmer in his eye was a knowing one, and she was sure that, if he could get away with it, he would have winked. Lyanna raised her goblet in return and for a moment, the pair simply sat and regarded one another, secure in their connection.

Too soon though, Lyanna was pulled back into the hum of conversation surrounding her and she lost track of her dragon prince, distracted by her brothers. Benjen and Robert talked incessantly, trading stories and vying for her attention while Ned blushed and smiled at Ashara Dayne and Brandon just brooded. It was a fairly jovial evening and soon enough the room was filled with the sound of clapping and cheering as the bards sang and the jesters performed. Many lords and ladies took their turn, showing off one talent or another, including Ashara, Elia, Lewyn Martell and Oberyn, who performed a Dornish folk dance that they called ‘The Dance of Vipers’. The energy was frenetic and Lyanna’s blood sang with the excitement of it all.

After ser Jon Conninton had failed at juggling and was pulled off of the stage by some well-meaning friends, Rhaegar himself stood and quietly approached one of the harpists, enquiring after then man’s instrument. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as the prince took center stage, everyone wondering what was about to happen. The prince took a deep breath, caught Lyanna’s eye for a moment and slowly began to play. Each note was perfect and distantly familiar and rang out sweetly through the hall, drawing a sigh from every person who heard it. Then, when the music swelled, Rhaegar Targaryen opened his mouth and began to sing. Lyanna heard herself gasp, her heart melting as the most angelic sound she’d ever heard flooded her ears. His voice wasn’t good, it was _heavenly_ , and the song he sang was both sweet and sad. Her eyes were glued to Rhaegar as he sang, his eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in the music and Lyanna felt her eyes start to water.

“What song is this?” Benjen asked breathlessly.

“It’s the song of Daena the Defiant,” she answered, not breaking eye contact for a second.

The music seemed to swallow her until nothing existed but her, Rhaegar and the haunting sound of his voice, weaving magic to bind them to one another forever. Embarrassingly, tears slipped down Lyanna’s cheeks as the song progressed and the young knight threw himself on the king’s mercy. For a moment, she thought she could see it all happening, she could almost hear Daena’s cries and feel the blood running down her hands. Eventually the last notes of Rhaegar’s voice faded into the night air, leaving only silence in its wake and Benjen poked Lyanna’s cheek.

“Are you crying?” he teased, “Oh my God are you crying?”

Because of the silence, all heads turned in her direction, including Rhaegar, whose face softened when he saw her. Lyanna tried to give him a smile, but the grief had taken root inside her and all she could manage was a watery grin. She could feel eyes on her as Benjen continued to test her patience and, on an impulse, she lifted her full glass of wine and poured it over her younger brother’s head. Just like that, the tension broke, and the nobles applauded their prince, who bowed graciously and took his seat after one last look at Lyanna.

“Do you think that he was singing to you?” A cold voice asked, Elia Martell appearing from nowhere.

Lyanna stuttered, wiping her eyes frantically, “No princess, of course not.”

“Good,” she answered, “he may be infatuated with you right now, but he is still _my_ husband.”

“Yes ma’am,”

“If that’s all princess,” Ned sintervened, resting an arm over Lyanna’s shoulder protectively, “I would like to dance with my sister.”

The Dornishwoman regarded her brother clinically, her head tipped to the side as she studied him.

“You’re Ashara’s man, aren’t you?” she eventually asked.

Lyanna winced as Brandon’s back stiffened and he bit down on his jaw while, Ned, who was oblivious to this, just blushed.

“I suppose I am, yes.” He answered.

“You’re a good man, you defended me from King Aerys even though it could’ve cost you your life.” She continued, sounding slightly confused.

“It was no trouble princess, I only told the truth.”

Elia seemed to snap out of her reverie and she gave Ned a small smile, “Well, treat my friend properly. There aren’t many women out there as kind and trusting as Ashara and I would hate to see her taken advantage of.”

Ned nodded; his face serious and solemn as he replied, “I would never hurt her. Never.”

Brandon stood and strode away, making Lyanna’s stomach pinch with worry. Elia barely noticed, but she tipped her head at Eddard and left without so much as another glance at Lyanna.

“What’s wrong with Brandon?” Ned asked once she was out of earshot.

Lyanna shrugged, hoping that Ned couldn’t read the guilt on her face.

“I’d better go check on him,” he said, rising to follow his older brother and leaving Lyanna alone.

She didn’t know where Robert was, and Rhaegar was busy discussing politics with some of his banner men. Catelyn was talking with Ashara and Elia, which ruled them out and Cersei Lannister was staring after her brothers with a sly look in her green eyes while she blatantly flirted with Howland Reed and any other man who came near enough.

“Do you think Brandon will tell him?” Benjen asked, snapping Lyanna out of her daydream.

“Tell him what?” she asked.

“That he’s in love with Ashara Dayne too,” Benjen continued, “I think he will. I don’t think Ned’ll take it particularly well though.”

Lyanna stared at her younger brother as he mopped the wine from his face, shocked at first but then slowly she started to laugh. It wasn’t a particularly funny situation, but she laughed anyway until she was clutching her stomach and tears were welling up in her eyes. Of course Benjen knew, of course her younger brother was more tapped in to the reality of their family than she was. He’d always been an observer, too young to play the games that the older three had to play, but old enough to watch and learn.

“You know a whole lot more than we give you credit for, don’t you Benji?” She asked once she’d managed to calm herself.

Benjen nodded and gave her a smug smile, “You all think that you’re so slick, but it’s always obvious to me.”

“Do you think that Brandon really loves Ashara?” she asked.

Benjen shrugged, “He thinks he does, but he doesn’t really know her, does he? Ned knows her.”

“I don’t understand it,” Lyanna admitted, “Brandon is engaged and he loves Ned, why would he want to ruin this for him?”

“Brandon loves us, but he’s never not gotten what he wanted before,” he reminded her, “he’s the oldest son, he’s never had to share before.”

“You talk about him as though he were a child.”

“In a lot of ways, he is,” Benjen countered, “it’s the wolf in him, I think.”

Just then, they heard a scuffle outside and two raised voices that sent a bolt of fear through Lyanna’s heart. In a moment, she was up and running to where she could hear her brothers arguing. Without her knowledge, Rhaegar’s eyes followed her, worry gnawing at his stomach as he saw her distressed face. He moved to follow her but felt someone grip his arm and turned to face his wife, whose face was pinched with a mix of anger and despair.

“Don’t go after her,” she demanded with a note of pleading, “just don’t.”

 

“I have to,” he said, shrugging her off and moving towards where he’d seen Lyanna vanish off to. By the time he arrived, ten or so people had already congregated around the two boys, including Ashara Dayne, and Lyanna was shaking with rage. Her brothers were swinging at one another, hurling curses as easily as fists.

“Back down!” Brandon demanded, using his Young Lord voice as he swung at Ned.

“No!” Ned answered back, more passionate than Lyanna had ever seen him, “No Brandon, for once in my life I’m not going to let you walk all over me.”

Brandon yelled something profane and leapt at Eddard, tackling him to the ground. Lyanna jumped between the men and tried to pull her older brother off.

“Stop it, stop it!” She demanded, finally succeeding in wrenching Brandon off of Ned, both of whom were bruised and bloody and boiling with hate, “Pull yourselves together, you’re brothers, not naughty children and you’re embarrassing yourselves.”

“He star-“ Ned tried to explained.

“I don’t care who started it!” she exclaimed, “ _I’ve_ just finished it and now, we’re going to go home and you’re going to talk like rational adults, understood?”

The two grown men cowered under the heat of their sister’s rage and nodded sheepishly, turning and letting their guards escort them away.

“Ned,” Ashara called, running to clasp his hand and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Lyanna pressed a shaking hand to her forehead, realizing a moment too late that her hands were stained with flecks of her brothers’ blood. The crowd begun to disperse, but Lyanna couldn’t move, she couldn’t get the image of Brandon beating Ned out of her mind and she felt weak and unsteady, as though someone had punched her in the stomach. A hand on her upper arm broker her out of her reverie and she looked up into a pair of soft, caring, purple eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

Lyanna pressed her lips together and nodded, trying to choke back her tears. She wished that she could just pull Rhaegar close and sob into his shoulder, but it was too public, too indecent even for her, so she just tried to give him some sort of smile. Rhaegar didn’t believe her, but he figured that it was best to not push her so, after checking to see that no one was paying them too much attention, he slid his fingers down her arm and took her hand in his.

“Get home safe, my lady.” He said pointedly, bowing as he took his leave.

Lyanna watched him leave, feeling a touch of excitement as she ran her fingers over the small piece of paper he’d pressed into her palm.

“Are you ready to leave my lady?” the chief of her guard asked.

Lyanna sighed and slipped the secret message into one of the pockets in her sleeve, “I guess so. Make sure Benjen gets home safely please. ”

By the time she arrived back in camp, any happiness that seeing Rhaegar may have given her had evaporated and she was just tired and angry. Brandon and Eddard were sitting in the central tent five feet apart, staring purposely in opposite directions, like a pair of children in time out. Just the sight made Lyanna feel emotionally drained. She’d been playing the role of mother for years ow, since Lyarra Stark, their actual mother, had passed away leaving Lyanna to fill her role as woman of the house. On nights like this, she longed for her mother so acutely that it felt as though she’d just died and Lyanna was all alone for the first time again. The boys looked up when she entered, Ned looking sheepish and embarrassed while Brandon himself just looked angry which, in turn, made Lyanna even angrier.

“What were you thinking?” she asked, “What on earth were you thinking?”

Both boys opened their mouths to answer, but she interrupted, “You obviously weren’t. We’re _Starks of Winterfell,_ born and bred in the north. Winter is in our veins, along with the blood of the first men and the magic of the old gods. We don’t hurt one another; we can’t, especially now that we’re so far south. We’re surrounded by enemies; lions, vipers, dragons and more, people who would seize the north in a heartbeat if they thought they had a hope in hell of keeping it. We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves.”

Brandon snorted, “We’ve been fighting a war amongst ourselves since mother died.”

“No Brandon, _you’ve_ been fighting a war within _yourself_ since mother passed,” Ned corrected, “and you’ve been taking it out on the rest of us ever since.”

“How would you know? You left Eddard!” Brandon shouted, “You saw an opportunity to get out and you took it. Her grave dirt hadn’t even settled yet and you were out of our gates forever, off to play lords with _Robert Baratheon_ while your family suffered. You _betrayed_ us.”

“I did as I was told,” Ned countered, just as angrily, “our father said leave, so I left but I never forgot about you, any of you, I-“

“Enough!” Lyanna roared, silencing her brothers, “That’s enough! This isn’t about who did and didn’t betray our family because, right now, every single person in this room has betrayed the Stark name, but only the two of you have betrayed _each other_.” She looked between them, feeling the wolf in her take over and bear its teeth, “What did mother always say? What was the one thing she told us time and time again? What were her last words to us, all of us, as she lay there, dying?”

There was a long moment of silence before Ned spoke up, his voice quiet and shaking, “When winter comes, the lone wolf dies-“

“But the pack survives.” Brandon finished, swallowing hard.

“Exactly,” Lyanna agreed with a small sigh of relief, “we know that winter isn’t over. We know it as surely as we know our own names, we feel it in our bones, because we _are_ winter and we need each other now more than ever. Are you really going to let a woman tear our family apart?”

“I love her, Lya,” Brandon pleaded, “I do.”

“As do I,” Ned retaliated, “And unlike you I’m not engaged. Ashara chose me Brandon. For the first time in my life, someone chose _me_ over  _you._  It’s not just about who you may or may not love, Ashara made her choice.”

“Because you turned her against me!” Brandon snarled, standing so that he towered above his brother.

“No, because she’s in love with Ned!” Lyanna cried, frustration boiling in her stomach, “She’s in love with him Brandon; she is. It’s over.”

There was a long moment of silence and then she watched, her heart aching, as her brother deflated, collapsing into his seat. Brandon buried his head in his hands and let out a long breath, sounding completely destroyed by the revelation. Lyanna walked over and pressed a hand between her brother’s shoulder blades. The fight was over, now it was time for them to heal the wounds that they’d inflicted on each other because, at the end of the day, they were family and Brandon’s pain was all of their pain.

“I’m sorry brother,” Ned said, ever the more congenial of the two, “truly, I never wanted my happiness to cause you pain.”

“I know,” Brandon spat with only half of his usual venom, “damn it Ned, you’re too good for that.”

“Thank you?” Ned replied with a gentle chuckle, “Was that even a compliment?”

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” Brandon continued, “I let my anger get the best of me.”

“Pssht, that? I barely even felt that.” Ned joked, clapping him on the back.

“Are we going to be alright here?” Lyanna asked, “I don’t need to worry about pulling you off of one another?”

Brandon looked up at his brother, trying to mask his pain, “Treat her well brother.”

“I will.” And then Brandon turned his gaze to Lyanna, his grey eyes sad but stable, “And you sweet sister, do we need to worry about you?”

Lyanna recoiled, wondering how Brandon always managed to flip the situation back on her. She crossed her blood stained hands over her chest and shifted from one foot to the other.

“What do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

Brandon raised his eyebrows, “The prince. I warned you to stay away from him.”

“And I have,” she lied, “so I fail to see your point.”

“Liar. I saw the way you two looked at each other tonight, all sickeningly sweet like no one else could see. He’s a married man Lyanna, and you’re an engaged woman, you have no business spending time with each other.”

“Oh, you mean like how you had no business courting Ashara, brother mine?” she shot back impulsively, realizing suddenly that she’d made a mistake.

A mistake that Brandon picked up on instantly. It was rare to see Ned fight with any of his siblings, but Brandon and Lyanna fought often and every single time it was like watching two direwolves trying to rip one another’s throats out; bloody, violent, and strangely majestic and it didn’t take a whole lot to set them off. Lyanna had hit a nerve and, just like that, the fight was back on, only now it was less about fists and more about words.

“I am a lord,” He barked back, “you are a woman, a woman who is completely reliant on the men around her to maintain her lifestyle. What if Robert decides that he doesn’t want to marry the prince’s whore huh? How do you think father will react to that little scandal?”

“I’m not his whore!” Lyanna shouted back, “But I would happily be with him over Robert. Rhaegar appreciates me, he treats me like I’m my own person, not just some woman he needs to maintain and believe it or not, nothing’s happened between us.”

“Sure, because I believe that.” Brandon scoffed.

“Brother,” Ned warned, “I know you’re hurting but let it go.”

“I don’t care if you believe it or not,” Lyanna countered, “it’s the truth either way. We haven’t so much as kissed, let alone fucked one another, so why don’t you reel your neck in and stop taking all your angst out on me?”

Brandon looked as though he was about to answer, but he decided against it and nodded.

“Can’t fight a war amongst ourselves, right?” he said.

Lyanna let her muscles relax, recognizing that, although he wasn’t admitting defeat, her brother was putting away his claws in the name of peace.

“We most definitely can’t.” she agreed, letting Brandon pull her into a rough hug.

They went to bed in uncomfortable silence and Lyanna was uncomfortably aware of the deep hurt that had been done tonight, by all of them. She knew that Brandon hadn't forgiven her, hadn't forgotten his grievances and that, soon enough, the wolves would fight again. To drive the images out of her mind, she pulled out the folded piece of paper that she'd kept hidden and opened it, smiling when she saw the frantic scribble that was Rhaegar Targaryen's handwriting. 

_Meet me at the range tomorrow? 7am, I miss you already._

_And I miss you,_ she thought,  _too much._


	12. And Our Hearts Though Stout And Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar couldn’t remember ever having been any happier.

Rhaegar couldn’t remember ever having been any happier. It had been a few days since the feast and he’d been spending as much time as he could with Lyanna. It was difficult, and some days they could only spare a few minutes for one another, but their time was always the highlight of Rhaegar’s day and their relationship just kept getting better and better. There was something about Lyanna that brought out sides of him that he didn’t even know existed anymore. When they were together he had a humor and a lightness about him that gave him hope, hope that maybe he wouldn’t be completely destroyed by being king one day. She let him be himself and, in turn, she opened up to him as well. He smiled as he leant back in the grass, remembering his last visit with the magnetic girl, just the day before.

_“Lift your bow arm slightly,” she suggested, coming up behind him to correct his stance, “and hold your core-” she placed a hand on his stomach, “-keep this area tight, got it?”_

_Rhaegar’s breath caught in his throat. She was so close, if he turned around their noses would be almost touching and then it would be so easy to just lean forward and- “Better?” he asked, trying to force his mind away from the dark, tantalizing places that being near Lyanna Stark tempted him towards._

_“Much,” she congratulated, “now take a deep breath and loose on the exhale.”_

_Rhaegar followed her instructions to the tee and cheered when his arrow landed to the left of center. He still wasn’t an expert archer by any means, and Lyanna shot absolute circles around him, but at least he was hitting the target now. He turned and pulled Lyanna into a bone-crushing hug, picking her up and spinning her while she squealed. Rhaegar liked Lyanna most when they were like this, wrapped in faded riding gear with the smell of pine in their hair and genuine happiness in their eyes. Lyanna was wild and untamable and she came alive when they were alone together, same as him. It was a beautiful sight and as a result, it got harder and harder to say goodbye every time._

_“You’re a bloody genius, you know that?” he told her, ruffling her hair when he put her back on the floor._

_She batted his hand with a fond roll of her eyes, “I’m not.”_

_“You are,” he insisted, “honest to gods, if my father new how much you’d helped my shooting, he’d knight you right on the spot.”_

_“Or have me beheaded,” Lyanna joked._

_Rhaegar shrugged, “It’d depend entirely on his mood I guess.”_

_“Safer to keep it to ourselves then.”_

_Rhaegar looked at Lyanna’s wicked, knowing smirk and had to force himself to not just stop what he was doing and kiss her until his lips bruised. As a compromise he pulled her into a tight hug and rested his chin on the top of her head. He loved holding her like this and, judging by the little hum of contentment Lyanna made, she did too._

It had been perfect and picturesque and more than he’d ever dared to imagine that he deserved.

“For now,” he replied, promising himself as much as he was promising her, “We’re a secret for now. One day…”

What? One day what? Honestly what was it that he was expecting from this? Not marriage, obviously, though he would honestly like nothing more than to make Lyanna his wife; not children to fulfil his prophecy, he had Elia for that. There was nothing productive that could come from what they were doing together and yet, the idea of calling it off was inconceivable for Rhaegar.

Still lost in thought, Rhaegar stood and began to wonder aimlessly through the maze of tents. He’d managed to convince his guards to take the afternoon off, giving him the opportunity to spend a few blissful hours alone for what felt like the first time in years. Rhaegar Targaryen was the future king, due to inherit a dynasty and he loved the people of Westeros but, in his heart, he would be more than happy to be left alone somewhere warm with a good book and a dry place to sleep. That was where his true passion lay.

It was a lovely spring day, warm enough that he could go without a cloak but with a biting wind that meant he wouldn’t sweat. As he walked he hummed to himself, a tune he’d been working on for a few days now but hadn’t perfected yet. It was sweet and slow and hopeful but he felt that it would take a melancholy turn eventually. It had been almost a year since he’d written any music of his own and it felt good to connect to that part of himself again. He slowly became aware of the sound of voices somewhere to his left, familiar voices that made Rhaegar stop in his tracks. He moved slowly, so that he wouldn’t make any noise, and positioned himself so that he could see the speakers who were talking inside a nearby tent.

“Ashara Dayne? Oh please,” Cersei Lannister scoffed, rolling her emerald green eyes right to the back of her pretty blonde head, “she’d bore the pants off of you Brandon; honestly you’re better off without her.”

Brandon Stark sighed, his sculpted face showing signs of weariness as he collapsed into a seat and ruffled his hair.

“Ashara isn’t boring,” he argued weakly.

“Oh yes she is. That girl doesn’t have _two unique thoughts_ to rub together in her pretty little head. You need a strong woman.” Cersei insisted, pouring wine for them both and taking a seat across from him, “Someone who can hold you down.”

“Ashara’s a lady, she’s…ladylike,” Brandon tried to protest.

Cersei laughed and her hair rippled like molten gold, “Boring! Ladylike is just code for boring and you know it. Honestly, you should be relieved; the only person even half as boring as Ashara is that brother of yours. It’s a perfect match!”

Brandon chuckled shakily. It was a tired sound and Rhaegar felt an overwhelming rush of pity for the boy.

“You’re right, I know you are but Cers, I loved her.” He reminded his companion, “I really did.”

The lioness rolled her eyes again, “No you didn’t; you barely knew her. You wanted her because your brother had her, and you’re a selfish brat that’s all.”

“Ouch, harsh.”

“Oh it’s not a criticism,” Cersei assured him, “all the best people in life are selfish, it’s the only sensible way to be.”

“That’s a rather dismal way to see the world,” Brandon commented.

The woman shrugged, “It’s the truth though, no one ever does anything for purely altruistic reasons, otherwise what would be the point?”

Brandon laughed again, “You’re really something, you know that Cersei Lannister? I pity the man who ends up marrying you expecting a quiet, obedient wife and finds himself in bed with a force of nature.”

From his position, Rhaegar could see Cersei’s smile and, to his immense surprise, it was absolutely radiant. Their fathers had been close friends once, very close friends and it had once been rumored that Cersei was to be his wife. She was beautiful and regal and the oldest daughter of a powerful and wealthy family, she was everything a queen should be but, looking at her now, seeing the way her famous green eyes regarded Brandon with a clinical accuracy, he was immensely grateful that the engagement had fallen through. Something told Rhaegar that Cersei Lannister was far more dangerous than either he or Brandon combined.

For what it was worth, Brandon Stark seemed to bring out something almost human in her, something more genuine and caring than Rhaegar had thought her capable of.

“I hope I’ll love my husband,” she admitted, “and I already know that he’ll love me. How could he not?”

“How could he not indeed,” Brandon agreed fondly, “Well, I hope one of us gets to be happy at least because there’s no way I’ll ever love Catelyn Tully.”

“Catelyn has _some_ mind of her own at least,” Cersei allowed begrudgingly, “as women go she’s not totally useless.”

“But she’s _insipid!_ ” Brandon argued.

“And Ashara Dayne isn’t?”

“Fair point.” He conceded.

“Face it Brandon, we’re nobles, we don’t get to choose our fate.” She told him.

“We just need to deal with the hand we’re dealt I suppose,” Brandon agreed.

Cersei scoffed, “Deal with the hands we’re dealt? No, rig the game Brandon, that’s the real secret.”

 _‘rig the game Brandon, that’s the real secret.’_   
Cersei’s voice echoed in Rhaegar’s mind as he slipped through the camp, trying his best to process the scene he’d just witnessed. Cersei Lannister and Brandon Stark, there’s a combination no one would have imagined. Were they friends? Did Lyanna know about the people her brother spent time with? Somehow, he doubted it. Lyanna and Cersei were as different as night and day, both women were strong and fierce, which Rhaegar admired, but where Lyanna was passionate and joyful and reckless, Cersei was detached, disillusioned and calculating. He tried to imagine them talking to one another and had to smile at the veritable plethora of curses that Lyanna would spit as the blonde lounged and rolled her pretty emerald eyes. No, Cersei Lannister and Lyanna Stark were _not_ destined for a life of friendship and comradery.

The afternoon passed quickly for him but he came no closer to figuring anything out. He ached to go and see Lyanna but he knew that it was far too great of a risk. If Brandon had returned, hells, if Ned or even Benjen were in camp to see him arrive, then Rhaegar would be forced to explain what he was doing seeking out their younger sister and that was a conversation he was entirely sure he was not ready to have.   
Instead he wondered further and further into the thick of camp, losing himself in the hum and bustle of everyday life. It was a comforting collection of sounds, ones that he very rarely got the chance to experience, being who he was. The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a warm, lazy glow over everything as afternoon turned swiftly to evening. Soon enough, Barristan and Arthur would be back and he’d be forced back into doing his royal duty, something he was immensely bored with these days. Out of the corner of his eye, Rhaegar saw people congregating around a group of musicians. Slowly, the sound of voices drew him closer and he pushed through the crowd until he could see what was going on. Almost instantly, he wished that he had just kept walking.

Robert Baratheon stood in the center of the circle looking handsome and jovial as he proclaimed his undying love for the woman beside him to the crowd. Lyanna Stark, for her part, looked as though she had been caught entirely unawares but was trying her best to remain calm. Rhaegar’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched her, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as though he was starving and she was the last plate of food on the planet. Against his will, Rhaegar let his eyes drift to Robert and he sighed. For all Robert’s flaws, he looked at Lyanna with eyes so filled with love that it made Rhaegar nauseous. He’d met the man once or twice and he’d always seemed good hearted and amiable to Rhaegar, if a little hedonistic in his pursuits.

“-she’s the woman of my dreams, the love of my life and soon, gods be good, she’ll be my wife,” Robert’s voice boomed, his smile so bright that it almost hurt to look at, “and so I have come before all of you good people today with my heart in my hand to tell you the good news.” He turned to Lyanna and took one of her hands in his, “I have written to your father, Lyanna Stark, I told him that over these last few weeks I’ve proven my devotion to you and that, in return, your love for me has grown. He’s agreed to push our engagement forward.” He knelt and pulled a gold cuff emblazoned with the Baratheon stag from his pocket, sliding it onto her wrist before she had a chance to do anything more than gape, “We’re to be married in four months at my home in Strom’s End. In less than half a year, you’ll be my wife so, now, before all these people, I pledge to always be by your side. I pledge my heart to you from now until my last day and I swear that I will always treat you kindly and gently.” He declared, his voice deep with sincerity, “I’m mad for you Lyanna Stark, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making you happy so, whatd’ya say?”

Rhaegar had never felt as ill in his entire life as he did right then, watching another man say all the things he wanted to say to the woman they both lo-admired. He knew that he was being ridiculous. He’d known that Lyanna was engaged from the first time they’d spoken, in fact he’d discussed Lyanna’s impending marriage with her at length. So why did it suddenly feel as though someone had sucker punched him in the solar plexus and ripped his heart out of his chest? Lyanna’s mouth gaped and her face had turned an unhealthy shade of grey in the darkening air. All around them fires were being lit and musicians were beginning to play their sweet melodies into the cool evening air. Logically he knew that it was probably a beautiful sight, but he felt as though his world was spinning and all he could focus on was Lyanna.

“Um-yeah, yes, yes of course.” She eventually stammered, swallowing hard.

If Rhaegar had felt bad before he felt awful now, and it took every ounce of strength in his body to stop his knees from buckling out from beneath him. Robert stood and pulled Lyanna into a tight embrace which she returned albeit a little hesitantly. She’d said yes, she’d agreed to be his in front of all of Westeros. This wedding was really going to happen one day soon. For the first time Rhaegar saw it all happening before his eyes, Lyanna Stark dressed in white, walking down an aisle surrounded by adoring nobles to meet her future husband and bind herself to him forever. They’d be married and, as the crown prince, Rhaegar would be expected to sit and smile through it all, to bless their union and help strip Lyanna and carry her to her wedding bed. Just the thought made him sick to his stomach. It wouldn’t end there either, oh no, after that there’d be children and tourneys to visit and feasts to attend. They would watch one another’s lives progress without them from afar and Rhaegar was certain that it would never really stop hurting.

At that exact moment Lyanna’s silver eyes met his and he saw the exact moment when recognition flared into existence. As his chest flooded with warmth and sadness all mixed into one Rhaegar turned and snuck away, fleeing in what he hoped was the general direction of his tent. Did that make him a coward? Probably, but he couldn’t stand to see the woman he-he couldn’t stand to see them together for another second.

“Your Highness,” Barristan exclaimed as Rhaegar stormed into his tent, sweeping a map of Westeros off a table and letting it clutter to the floor, “I-“

“Please, not now ser Barristan,” Rhaegar pleaded, gripping the table until his knuckles turned white, “cancel everything I have planned for this evening, I just want to be alone.”

“Did something happen sir?”

“ _Not now_ ,” he growled, trying to calm the raging inferno of anger and hurt boiling in the pit of his stomach, “I’m sorry Barristan, I promise I’ll fill you in eventually I just-not now, alright?”

The knight nodded stiffly and bowed to his prince as he took his leave, making a mental note to ask around and see what could have dampened Rhaegar’s mood. The prince however continued to stew, seeing Robert Baratheon’s loving gaze on Lyanna again and again and again. He hadn’t thought that it would hurt to know that Robert loved her, after all, he would be stupid not to and yet here Rhaegar was, the dragon in his chest roaring at the unfairness of the situation.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Rhaegar whispered to himself, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

A rustling from behind him made Rhaegar turn, and his breath caught in his throat. He hated how seeing Lyanna made all the anger just fade away for a moment and filled him with a sense of well-being, but then his eyes fell on the gold cuff on Lyanna’s wrist and he bit down on the back of his jaw. She was so beautiful that it hurt in a way that Rhaegar didn’t really know things could hurt and it was immensely frustrating. He didn’t know who’d let her in but he figured it was Barristan. _Seven hells on that man,_ he cursed half-heartedly, searching the Stark woman’s face for clues as to her feelings. For her part, Lyanna looked frantic, as though she was on the verge of tears and it put a damper on Rhaegar’s boiling rage. He never could stand to see her hurt. Without saying anything he opened his arms and let her run into them, holding her body tight as she shook and sobbed gently into his chest.

“You’re going to be alright,” he told her as comfortingly as he could, “everything will work itself out, I promise.”

“Four months!” she cried, “Four months Rhaegar, I thought I had a year at least. Why did no one ask me? Why wasn’t I told?”

“The world is a fucked up place,” he agreed, knowing that she didn’t really expect him to have any of the answers she needed.

Lyanna pulled away, her cheeks stained with tears and her eyes wide and frightened in a way he’d never seen before. She was a lot of things, but Lyanna Stark was a brave woman and it took a lot for her to admit to fear. She sniffled and it was painfully endearing in the saddest possible way. In that moment Rhaegar’s grief was nearly overwhelming; the only thing that made it bearable was that his longing for her was even worse.

“I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to be his wife.” She told him, her voice shaking.

Rhaegar swallowed hard, his heart pinching in his chest, “I know you don’t.”

“No matter what I said out there, I don’t want this,” she repeated, “I need you to know that.”

“I do know that,” he promised, feeling a rush of yearning shoot through him.

Rhaegar was too tired to fight it and too heartbroken and hopeless to act on it so, as a compromise, he cupped her jaw with his hand and rested his forehead against hers, letting his eyes flutter shut. Lyanna’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t pull away, resting her hands on his chest hesitantly instead. They stayed like that for a long while and Rhaegar couldn’t tell if the tantalizing ache rushing through his veins was torture or bliss.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he admitted eventually, opening his eyes.

Lyanna’s cheeks flushed but she met his gaze steadily, “Why don’t you?”

Rhaegar was sorely tempted.

“I can’t.” he replied.

“Why?”

Rhaegar tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and traced her jaw with his fingers softly as he tried to find the right words to describe his feelings.

“Because,” he finally started as part of him screamed for him to shut up, “up until now neither of us have actually _done_ anything wrong,” he explained, pulling his forehead away, “regardless of what we might’ve felt, we were innocent. The moment we kiss, you will have betrayed Robert the same way he betrayed you. I can’t make you do that; that has to be your choice.”

“You will have betrayed Elia too,” Lyanna pointed out, her eyes never leaving his, “surely then it should be your choice too?”

Rhaegar smiled ruefully, and pressed his forehead to hers again, taking a deep breath and basking in the inexplicable magic of Lyanna Stark.

“I made my choice long ago,” he told her softly, “I betrayed Elia the moment we met.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank you guys for being so kind about this story. It really does mean the world to me and I love hearing what you guys have to say. Your support has been amazing, so thanks a lot and I hope you enjoyed this chapter xx


	13. Still Like Muffled Drums Are Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna wondered home in something of a daze. Her body still thrummed with electricity from the kiss that never happened with Rhaegar but it was her mind and heart that had her the most confused. The rational part of her appreciated that Rhaegar was giving her an option but the impassioned part was just frustrated with the entire situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some trouble with this chapter, but I'm happy with the end result.   
> I was wondering, do you guys like when I write from the perspectives of characters other than Lyanna and Rhaegar? Would you be interested in a chapter that explored how characters like Oberyn, Cersei, Catelyn and other lords are handling the events in Westeros? Let me know what you think.

Lyanna wondered home in something of a daze. Her body still thrummed with electricity from the kiss that never happened with Rhaegar but it was her mind and heart that had her the most confused. The rational part of her appreciated that Rhaegar was giving her an option but the impassioned part was just frustrated with the entire situation. It had been late by the time she left Rhaegar’s and now it was even later. The stars were bright and beautiful, but Lyanna barely noticed them as she came nearer and nearer to her family’s tents, her mind was a million miles away.

She absentmindedly ran her thumb over her bottom lip, imagining that she could still feel the warmth of Rhaegar’s body against hers. Lyanna had never been kissed before, but she’d thought about it a lot since she’d met the prince, what it would feel like and what it would mean for them. In her mind, she could still see Rhaegar’s heartbroken face on the edge of the crowd as Robert pulled her close, the way his magenta eyes had clung to hers as he’d stroked her cheek softly. He’d looked so broken in those moments, so open and vulnerable that Lyanna wasn’t too sure how to handle it. She’d never wanted to hurt Rhaegar, she’d never wanted to hurt Robert, she’d never wanted to hurt anybody!

She was though, she knew she was and, as she recognized her future husband standing and talking to her brother, Brandon, the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. The thick metal cuff seemed to dig into her wrist, the gold glinting in the moonlight as she used her other hand to twist it so that the stag was somewhat hidden. Guilt gnawed at her stomach like a dog with a bone and Lyanna wanted nothing more than to run far away. It never felt like this with Rhaegar, some part of her noted, it never felt sickening or terrifying, only soft and gentle and welcoming. It was a depressing thought, but not one that she could banish from her mind when every moment with Robert only proved it more and more.

“Lya!” Robert cheered his face lighting up like a child on his nameday as he jogged over and pulled her close, lifting her and spinning her around, “There you are my love, I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“It’s a good thing I knew where you were, wasn’t it sweet sister? Otherwise Robert may have worried,” Brandon said pointedly, appearing beside Robert like a ghost, all angles and harsh lines, his dark eyes burning into her with barely contained fury.

“Yes,” she agreed with a nervous smile as fear gripped her stomach, “that is lucky. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting my lord, it won’t happen again.”

Robert’s laugh was warm and open and it made something in Lyanna pinch.

“I wouldn’t go making promises like that my love, we’ll be married soon after all, and I wouldn’t want you to make yourself a liar,” he teased with a conspiratorial wink.

Lyanna smiled and, again felt an overwhelming surge of guilt. She wished that she could love Robert, she really did. There was nothing she wanted more than to look upon her handsome fiancé and to long for him, helplessly, like Ashara longed for Ned, or Catelyn longed for Brandon. She cared for Robert; he was good and sweet and funny and he treated her gently, but she still felt like a toy in his arms, something shiny and beautiful that he’d coveted as a child and now would finally possess. She knew all too well that shiny things often dulled with time and, before long, he would lose interest in her and find something new to play with and Lyanna Stark had no interest in being left on a shelf to rot.

“How very wise of you Robert,” she agreed, “well either way I am sorry that you waited for so long. Was there something you needed?”

“Only another chance to look upon your beauty,” he assured, “I’m afraid I’ve become slightly addicted to your company Lady Stark.” The pair turned their attention to Brandon who was still hovering near by, doing his best to hide how furious he was and failing miserably. Robert cleared his throat, “Do you think that we could have a moment Bran?”

He frowned, “Alone?”

“That would be the assumption, yes,” Robert chuckled.

Brandon’s frown deepened and he shifted from foot to foot, “I’m not entirely sure that that’s appropriate Robert, my sister is-“

“For Gods’ sake Bran,” Robert interrupted with a tired laugh, “Lyanna and I are going to be _married_ in few months, she won’t be your sister for much longer. I’m not going to bed her or anything, I just want to talk.”

The oldest Stark fixed Robert with a cold look, his muscles tensed with the force of his anger but nodded stiffly anyway and turned to leave but, before he’d even made it two steps away he grabbed Robert’s arm and bared his teeth at the Baratheon in a fierce snarl.

“But let’s get one thing straight,” he said, his voice dripping with venom, “she will _always_ be my sister. Nothing will ever change that.”

And with that, he dropped Robert’s arm and stalking away, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The sight of her brother on his own, being swallowed by the darkness brought out a strange type of nostalgia in Lyanna. Brandon was complex and confusing and probably the most mercurial person she’d ever met but, as he’d said, he was her brother and she loved him with every part of her winter kissed heart. The wolf in her recognized his restlessness and called to him even as it railed against his control.

“Is your brother always such a prat?” Robert asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

“He’s not a prat,” she snapped back without thinking. Robert didn’t frown exactly, but a shadow of something flickered across his handsome face and Lyanna took a deep breath, “Sorry, he is kind of a prat, but he’s been under a lot of pressure.” She continued, hoping that her future husband would let the matter drop.

Seemingly appeased, Robert smiled again and took her hand, the moonlight making his blue eyes look almost black as he fingered the cuff on her wrist.

“You have made me so happy today Lyanna, truly,” he admitted fondly, “seeing this on your wrist and knowing that it’ll be there forever it’s……indescribable. Although, what am I saying? You probably know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

His gaze was so hopeful that it made Lyanna fee even worse about the dizzying wave of dread that his words had sparked. She remembered the shot of dismay and panic that had overwhelmed her earlier in the day, the shot that had reduced her to a sobbing mess in a matter of minutes. No matter how hard she thought, Lyanna couldn’t quite pinpoint why she’d searched for Rhaegar in that moment, what it was that could have possibly driven her to flee across camp and storm into the crown prince’s tent as though she had any right to be there. It had been instinct; she hadn’t even really known that she was looking for him until he was standing right before her.

“Of course,” she answered and, really, it was only half a lie, “it’s a beautiful bracelet my lord.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Robert smiled, “I won’t lie, I was worried that it wouldn’t be flashy enough. I know most woman like more jewels than what’s on that.”

“No, no it’s beautiful Robert, really,” Lyanna assured, hoping that he couldn’t sense the disdain in her voice, “it was very sweet of you to have it made.”

Robert visibly puffed up with pride, “Well, I can’t have my wife running around looking shabby can I?” he teased, “Got to show the world how proud I am of my wife.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, which made Lyanna flinch as he tugged her close, “Gods, _my wife_ , that sounds so good, doesn’t it? Robert and Lyanna Baratheon.”

It sounded wrong to Lyanna’s ears, as her name always did when he said it but she smiled anyway and tried to avoid making too much eye contact. Robert, it seemed, did not have any such reservations and he just calmly stared at the Stark girl. In his arms, she seemed impossibly small and he liked that, he liked being able to tower over her and feel as though he was protecting his future wife.

“You’re so beautiful Lyanna,” he said softly, tracing the line of her lips with his eyes.

For her part, Lyanna had never felt so uncomfortable and powerless. Robert stared her down and imagined, as he had many times, what his wedding night would be like. He’d slept with tons of women, he’d even welcomed his first child into the world an yet, no matter how many wenches he fucked, nothing came close to the thrill of seeing a girl naked for the first time. He could picture Lyanna there, standing before him, naked and open and ready for him and the image was so powerful that he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and kissing her hard.

Lyanna yelped as she felt Robert’s lips on hers, but he had a firm grasp on her hips so she had to just screw her eyes shut and wait for it to be over. His lips were dry and forceful and all she could hear was the sound of his breathing, loud and ragged in her ears. Robert forced her lips apart and Lyanna winced as his tongue slipped into her mouth. For a long while, he just moved his lips against hers and she let him, not entirely sure how to make it stop.

Eventually, he pulled away, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. Lyanna tried to compose herself so as not to offend her fiancé. For what felt like a long time they just stared at one another and then, Robert bowed quickly, pressed another kiss to her lips, promised to see her again and strode away confidently. As his looming figure faded into the distance, Lyanna felt herself start to shake and she reached up to touch her lips which were sore and stinging from Robert’s stubble. Her thumb dragged across her lips slowly. He’d kissed her. He’d _kissed_ her. Robert Baratheon had kissed her and it had been…awful.

Lyanna felt a deep aching sense of loss as she came to terms with the fact the kiss, her first kiss, was over and lost to her forever. At almost the same moment, she realized that she’d just kissed her future husband. Every kiss she would have from that moment on, would be from Robert and every single one would feel like that. Suddenly angry, she wiped her mouth frantically, wanting to get rid of any evidence of the disappointing milestone. She wanted her bow, she wanted to ride and shoot and rage at the unfairness of the world, but it was late and she knew that Brandon would be furious, so she confined herself to just standing there and shaking as the night air sunk into her bones.

Her brother appeared some time later, with Ned by his side and Lyanna remembered, with a tired sigh, the barely contained anger in Brandon’s eyes. For his part, Ned just looked worried, remembering all too well the awful fight his siblings had had just a few days before. A storm had been brewing between the pair ever since, and Lyanna’s own sadness and irritation would only aggravate the situation. While on a normal day she may have been spoiling for a fight, this time she felt too fragile and drained to work up anything other than a resigned sense of exhaustion.

“So, what now?” she asked, running a hand through her thick hair, “There’s obviously something on your mind so, out with it.”

“Have you been seeing the prince?” Brandon asked, quietly shocked by the suddenly ragged look of his younger sister, “And I don’t mean just ‘around’, have you been spending time together on purpose, away from camp?”

Lyanna sighed and tipped her head back, trying to force the feeling of Robert’s stubble against her skin out of her mind. She was tired, so very tired and, honestly, what was the point of this charade anymore?

“Yeah,” she admitted freely, “I have been.”

Brandon opened his mouth to argue, but he stopped as her words finally registered. For a long moment there was shocked silence, and Lyanna felt a flicker of guilt when she saw the dejection in Ned’s face. She understood it; after all, Robert was his best friend, but she was _his sister_ and he’d sold her like cattle, like a broodmare, to a man he knew would never be able to make her happy. Because of that, she’d be lying if she said that there wasn’t some small part of her that relished in his discomfort. She was sick of being a trophy, sick of being the perfect winter rose, the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, sick of it all. _Yes_ , she thought to herself as she watched her brothers squirm, _look at me;_ _see me! This is who I am!_

“You irresponsible little idiot,” Brandon replied, not sounding particularly angry himself, “Do I really need to fucking tell you this again? You can’t-“

“Yes, yes, we know; my _reputation_!” She interrupted, “Gods Brandon aren’t you bored of this? It’s done, it’s already happened, there’s nothing we can do!”

“And what about if Robert hears huh? You could jeopardize your whole-“

“My whole what?” she shouted with a humorless laugh, “We’re engaged, our wedding is already being planned; we’ll be married before winter’s over! Thanks for the heads up on that by the way,” she pointed out, her voice dripping with betrayal, “don’t act like you didn’t know because I know you did. So much for putting your family first I guess.”

“Lya that’s not fair-“ Ned tried.

“No, it’s not, you’re right! It’s not fair that my brothers who supposedly love me and want me to be happy conspired with the Baratheons behind my back to move my engagement forward, it’s not fair that I was the last person to hear about it, it’s not fair that I have to marry that brute of a man because he’s your best friend. None of this is _fair_ Eddard, that's the point welcome to the fucking real world big brother.” Lyanna snapped; months’ worth of anger and frustrated boiling out.

Her brothers didn’t answer for a long time and Lyanna relished having won for the first time in ages. Ned reached out to touch her arm and she pulled away, pushing down the guilt that came up when he winced as though she’d hit him.

“Do you love him?” Brandon eventually asked.

Lyanna frowned, “Robert? No, obviously-“

“Rhaegar,” he clarified, “do you love Rhaegar?”

Lyanna froze; her heart pounding in her chest as her anger faded into something a lot like sadness. She remembered how it felt to have Rhaegar’s eyes tracing her body, how his hands felt in hers, how being near him felt like filling herself with fire and how, despite the nerves and the butterflies, his smile was like coming home.

“No,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral, “no, I barely know him. He’s just a friend.”

Brandon nodded once, satisfied and strode forward, pulling her into a gruff hug, which she did not return.

He kissed her forehead softly and whispered, “We can’t fight a war amongst ourselves, remember?” she didn’t respond and Brandon sighed, “I love you Lya. I know I don’t say that enough but I do. I wish-I wish there was another way.”

That nearly broke her and Lyanna was mortified as her bottom lip began to quiver and tears welled up in her grey eyes. To speed up the process of ending this conversation, she nodded quickly and wiped her eyes.

“Love you too.”

Brandon smiled sadly and walked away, leaving Lyanna with Ned who looked to be caught in a storm of emotions he couldn’t quite make sense of. How had he missed this? First Brandon and now Lyanna, really, Ned had always thought that _he_ was the peacemaker, the one that held everyone together and stopped Lyanna and Brandon from ripping one another apart. As far as he’d known, everyone had been having an amazing time, himself included. Had his relationship with Ashara really made him that blind? He looked at his shaking, sobbing sister who, for the first time in living memory, looked broken and fragile, as though the wind might shatter her. _Yes_ , he answered, yes he’d been blind.

“I lied,” Lyanna admitted, turning to Ned as the tears forced themselves from her eyes, “I lied Ned. I do love him, I love him so much.”

She collapsed into Ned’s arms and he held her close, stroking her hair as his heart shattered in his chest. Everything was falling apart and he had no idea how to fix it.

“It’ll be alright,” he assured her half-heartedly, “I promise; everything’s going to be alright.”

 

Lyanna knew that she’d disappointed her brothers but, as she made an excuse to slip away from Ned, she was too fragile to care. It had begun to rain at some point but she barely felt it, her head was too busy buzzing with noise and colour and emotion. She could still feel the deep ache of loss in the pit of her stomach and, after the fight with Brandon, her whole body felt like it was vibrating with adrenaline. She felt impossibly restless and agitated and she had no idea what to do about it. It was like Lyanna could feel the bars of some imaginary prison closing in on her; and her body was preparing to make a quick break for freedom. Her mind whispered that there was no escaping her fate at this point though, and it broke her heart. She was trapped and the water was rising and she needed to get out, she needed to be free, she needed to-

Lyanna froze, her heart skipping a beat as she realized how stupid she’d been being. She needed Rhaegar. Rhaegar was the freedom and the joy she’d been missing and, judging by the black tents she could see a few meters ahead of her, her body had already realized that. In her mind, she saw him again, his violet eyes wide and sad as he whispered; _‘I can’t make you do that; that has to be your choice,’_ putting her needs before his. Something that resembled her old resolve and determination flared up and, as Lyanna started to walk again, there was new conviction in her step.

The rain was practically bucketing down now, but it didn’t bother her as she strode confidently into the camp. Some of the guards looked up for a moment, but the kind-faced Barristan Selmy waved them down, watching the young she-wolf with polite curiosity. She looked different soaking wet, he noticed, more vulnerable, less like a warrior and more like the seventeen year old girl she really was. Her vulnerability made Selmy like her even more and, as she pushed through the fabric leading to prince Rhaegar’s tent, he found himself smiling gently and silently wishing her happiness.

For her part, Lyanna felt as though she’d been gripped by some sort of madness, but she didn’t fight it because, in her heart, she knew that her head hadn’t been this clear for weeks. At the sound of her arrival, prince Rhaegar looked up from where he’d been sitting on his bed and his book slipped from his hand as the shock registered on his face. She must’ve looked like a crazy woman, Lyanna reasoned; soaking wet with silver-grey fire burning in her eyes, but she didn’t care.

“Just listen okay?” she blurted out, “I need to say this.”

Rhaegar nodded and there was a slight smile playing at his lips that made Lyanna feel weak at the knees. She swallowed hard and bushed her soaking wet hair off her forehead, trying to force her scattered thoughts into sentences that made sense.

“I know that you’re worried about ruining my reputation,” she started, praying to whatever gods were listening that she wasn’t about to make a total fool out of herself as Rhaegar walked slowly towards her, “I know that you’re trying to be a good guy and I know that neither of us want to hurt anybody but, these days, I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind without you. Every day it just gets harder and more hopeless and awful and I feel like I’m drowning and no matter what I do the water just keeps getting higher and higher and I need to _breathe_ , I need to _breathe again_ and-“

“Hey,” Rhaegar interrupted, resting a hand gently on her arm, “you’re spiraling, just slow down.”

Lyanna followed his lead and took a deep breath in, letting Rhaegar’s presence calm her frantic mind before she started again.

“I love my family,” she admitted, taking his hand in hers, “I’ll always love my family, but I can’t spend my whole life working to make _them_ happy. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for them because, at the end of the day, I’m not my mother and I never will be; I suppose I know that now.” She looked down for a moment, letting the sting of that wash over her for a moment as Rhaegar made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat, “Anyway, what I’m meaning to say is, I want _you_. I want to be with you; however I can, for as long as I can and, right now I’m done caring what anyone else has to say about it. I am Lyanna of house Stark and I choose you because you make me happy, you make me feel like I _deserve_ to be happy and…to be honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever had that before.”

Rhaegar looked down at her with a mixture of pride and sympathy glinting in his violet eyes. He squeezed her hand gently and let his eyes glance over the soaking wet girl in front of him, wondering what could have driven her back into his arms. Lyanna looked tired and shaken and there was a certain frailty about her that he wasn’t used to, but she was also beautiful and fierce and so sincere that it made all his doubts fade away into nothing.

“What are you saying?” he asked gently, feeling his heart pound like a kick drum beneath his ribs.

Lyanna paused for a moment, studying the man before her as she tried to burn this moment into her mind forever. She wanted to remember the way he looked, torn between hope and concern, his eyes focused solely on her in the moments before she tore their lives apart forever.

Once the moment had passed, she pushed up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his, gasping when a sudden warmth flooded through her. With a sigh, Rhaegar’s one arm snaked around her waist while he cupped her jaw and melted against her. Acting on instinct, she wrapped her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his soft, silver hair. Kissing Rhaegar, Lyanna realized, was nothing like kissing Robert. His lips were soft and warm and her whole body ached for him. No amount of contact seemed to be even nearly enough, everything in her cried out for more. It was sweet and tender and passionate and _heavenly_ and, and, and…

Lyanna couldn’t think, she couldn’t move; she was completely lost in the magic of Rhaegar Targaryen and, somewhere in the back of her mind, she chastised herself for wasting so much time and not doing this earlier. Remembering what Robert had done, Lyanna gently nudged Rhaegar’s lips apart and was rewarded with a soft moan that she instantly fell in love with. This too felt drastically different with Rhaegar, Lyanna discovered; it was intoxicating beyond imagining and, as she relished the cinnamon-and-wine taste of him, Lyanna understood, for the first time, what all the love songs were talking about. This was a feeling she knew that people would happily fight for; millions would go to war for something like this. They could have been there for a moment or for a million years; Lyanna honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell you but, as they broke apart, they were both panting, breathless and lost in one another.

Rhaegar was awestruck and somehow it made him look younger than he ever had before. He pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips again and rested his forehead against hers as they both tried to catch their breath.

“I love you,” he admitted, “Should’ve-I should’ve told you sooner, I’ve known for-oh, I’ve known forever. I love you, I’m in love with you I-“

“I love you too,” she replied, “Feels like I always have, seems kind of inevitable, doesn’t it?”

Rhaegar chuckled breathlessly and nodded, “Feels fucking amazing though.”

That struck Lyanna as an understatement and laughter bubbled up in her chest as she agreed and kissed him softly again. For the first time in her life, Lyanna Stark knew that she was in the _right_ place at the _right t_ ime; destiny had brought her here; to this man, in this moment, this man who _loved_ her. Rhaegar loved her! Just the thought made her fill with pure golden light.

“Feels _fucking_ amazing,” She answered, making a silent promise to hold on as tightly as she could and never let go.

Rhaegar’s laugh vibrated against her cheek from the point where it rested on his chest. The furs he’d wrapped around her shaking body were soft and thick and they felt good against her skin, but not even nearly as good as his hands carding through her hair.

“I spent so long trying to come to terms with it,” he mused, his voice warm and unguarded, “the idea of never seeing you again, going our separate ways and consigning myself to a lifetime of jealousy. I imagined what it would be like going to your wedding and seeing you at court every year. I wondered if we’d exchange secret smiles, maybe even talk or ride together once or twice, but then I figured that that would be too dangerous. Either way I knew that I’d spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been between us and regretting having been too much of a coward to kiss you.”

Lyanna propped her head up and looked up at her prince fondly, “You think too much my prince.”

His face contorted, as though he’d tasted something bitter and he grumbled, “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“It’s what you are though,” she reasoned, “I’m not afraid of it.”

“I am,” he whispered, “you may be fearless Lyanna Stark but I’m not. Involving you in the chaos of my life terrifies me every single day.”

Lyanna shifted forward and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Rhaegar’s lips, silently marveling at the picturesque beauty of the man before her as she tried to instill some of her surety in him.

“It’s done, the choice is made and I'm not fearless, I just don't abide being afraid of what's already past” She reminded him, stroking his cheek gently, “No matter what we could or should have done differently, I’m yours.”

Rhaegar smiled and pulled Lyanna close, thanking whatever gods existed for giving him this brief moment of peace.

“And I’m yours Lyanna Stark, for better or worse,” He said simply, “I knew that the day we met.”

“Probably for worse,” She teased, only half joking.

Rhaegar chuckled, even though it wasn’t really funny and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, well I knew that back then too.”


	14. Funeral Marches To The Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure that this isn’t too…scandalous Lysa?” Catelyn asked as she peered suspiciously into the looking glass, “It seems very bare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I took so long to post this! I've had mock exams and it's been really really crazy. Thank you all for your comments and kudos, you guys are the best! x

“Are you sure that this isn’t too…scandalous Lysa?” Catelyn asked as she peered suspiciously into the looking glass, “It seems very bare.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, “It’s perfect, don’t be stupid Cat.”

“It just seems so revealing.”

Lysa sighed, “Do you think Cersei Lannister would care about showing a little skin?”

“No,” Catelyn conceded reluctantly, “but I’m not Cersei Lannister, am I?”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Catelyn winced and flinched away from her younger sister. She knew that it must be difficult being Lysa, always living in Catelyn’s shadow, still being unengaged and living in uncertainty, but sometimes she felt as though Lysa truly did hate her.

“Do you always need to be so spiteful sister?” she asked, “Can’t you just answer my questions like a normal person?”

Lysa rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, looking purposely away as the seamstresses tucked and sewed around them. Catelyn’s gown was made from blue silk with red embellishments in the colours of her house. Along the sides, panels of fabric had been cut out to better show off Catelyn’s curves and the neckline was cut just low enough to be scandalous. It was beautiful, she admitted, but she couldn’t see her father approving of it. Lord Hoster loved his children but he was a famously sever man and he would shiver to see his eldest daughter displayed in such a way. In her mind she wondered what Brandon Stark would think when he saw her dressed like this. She hoped that he’d find her pleasing, maybe he’d even fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness for slighting her the way he had.

She wasn’t a fool, Catelyn Tully, she had heard the rumors about Brandon and Ned fighting one another for the lady Ashara’s love. She knew that her future husband had struck up a friendship of sorts with Cersei Lannister, that he shared something with her, some kinship that he’d never seen in Catelyn and she knew now that he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was when first they’d met. However, when she thought about him, when she pictured his handsome face smiling down at her, warm with confidence and affection, her knees went weak and her heart fluttered. As pathetic as it sounded, she loved Brandon; she had since the moment they’d met almost two years ago and, since she was going to marry him either way, she supposed that that was a good thing.

“Is it to your liking m’lady?” The seamstress asked, snapping Catelyn out of her reverie.

The noblewoman regarded herself in the looking glass, admiring the way the coloured silks brought out the red in her auburn hair and gave the seamstress a nod.

“Yes, thank you.”

She had never thought that she would become one of those women who chased desperately after their husbands; changing their hair, way of speaking manner of dressing for him and yet, here she stood, doing exactly that. Catelyn’s mother used to say that love made fools of even the wisest of men. She understood now, for the first time, how right her mother had been. Absentmindedly she wondered if this had been how her mother had felt before her own wedding.

“You’re a fool, a lovesick fool,” she whispered to herself, “you know that right?”

“Talking to yourself Cat, really?” Lysa snorted, “Surely you should save some of that for when you’re married and locked up with those dreary northerners.”

“They’re not all dreary, Lyanna’s pretty fun,” Catelyn retorted.

“Lyanna will be in Storm’s End with Robert Baratheon,” Lysa reminded her, “the only person you’ll have for company is Ashara Dayne.”

Catelyn’s heart stopped and she turned to face her sister as something like dread clutched at her stomach.

“What? Why?” she asked, trying not to sound as frantic as she was.

Lysa frowned, taken ever so slightly aback by her sister’s panic.

“Ashara Dayne,” she said again, slightly slower, “Arthur Dayne’s sister, she’s in love with Ned remember?” Lysa said tiredly. Catelyn nodded and Lysa continued, “Rumor has it that a marriage proposal is in the works, the prince himself if pushing for the match to be made, so you two will be sisters soon.”

“Isn’t that lovely,” Catelyn replied in monotone, her fists clenching at her sides. Just then, the remainder of the message sunk in, “Wait, prince Rhaegar is pushing for the marriage?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

Catelyn shook her head, “Why is the prince getting involved in northern affairs? Doesn’t that strike you as kind of odd?”

Lysa shrugged, “Sure, but he’s the prince, who cares?”

Catelyn ignored her sister as the cogs in her mind continued to twist and whirl. Something didn’t feel right about this whole situation but she couldn’t put her finger on why.

“The dragon doesn’t concern itself with what the wolf does,” she whispered, “that’s the way it’s always been.”

“Things are changing around here dear sister,” Lysa taunted, “who knows where we’ll all be in a year, best enjoy life now while we still can.”

 

Meanwhile Cersei Lannister twirled in front of her mirror, sighing happily as she watched the sunlight dance prettily off of her long, spun gold hair. She wasn’t a humble woman, gods above no. In Cersei’s opinion, a humble person was a stupid person, someone easily manipulated and ultimately expendable who didn’t appreciate their own value. So no, Cersei wasn’t humble, she was a lioness; proud and strong and more beautiful than any other woman in all seven kingdoms, everyone said so.

“Stop preening sister, I can practically hear your ego swelling,” Jamie said, managing to sound bored despite barely being able to tear his eyes off of her.

Cersei turned, a hand rested haphazardly on her hip as she rolled her eyes at her twin.

“Wouldn’t you preen if you looked as good as me though, brother dear?” She questioned with a shrug.

Jamie smirked, “I do look as good as you Cersei, that’s the whole point of being twins.”

The blonde girl raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her brother before pouncing and trapping him between her arms as her hands gripped the armrests of his seat. She leant forward slowly, until her lips hovered just above Jamie’s and his breath caught in his throat. His pupils dilated and he swallowed hard, making Cersei chuckle.

“Is that the point Jamie, darling?” She asked teasingly, relishing in his incapability to control his body around her.

For a moment longer Jamie squirmed under gaze, until he refocused and pulled his mask of casual indifference back into place.

“Don’t be a tease now Cers,” He countered, proud of how much calmer he now sounded as Cersei’s hand crept further and further up his thigh, “I thought that we were done with all that.”

Cersei sighed and leant back, “We are,” she agreed turning back to the mirror and examining herself again, “But of course you’re a knight now, you’re far too noble for something as filthy as sex, aren’t you?”

Jamie laughed, tossing his head back and smiling that warm, open smile that women fell in love with. He pushed himself up off of his seat and tossed his gold hair, ruffling it just the way Cersei liked.

“Far too noble indeed sister dear,” he agreed with a wink, “I’ll see you and father later.”

“You’re going?”

Jamie nodded, “Duty calls.”

To say that his twin sister pouted may have been slightly much, but her marble-esque face did tighten slightly with displeasure, and Jamie counted that as a kind of victory as he strode out into the sunlight.

As usual, the camp bustled with life and Jamie was doused in sights, sounds and smells. It was grotesque and magnificent all at once and Jamie loved every inch of it. He strode out into the hustle and bustle confidently, smirking when women noticed him and feigned disinterest while simultaneously trying to get his attention. He knew how fine he must look in his new gold armor with his Lannister good-looks and the impressive longsword hanging at his waist. So, yes, the women noticed. Of course, many of the men noticed too and Jamie didn’t chase any of their glances away. He enjoyed the attention, he enjoyed knowing that people craved him, that they wanted him desperately and yet would never-could never have him for their own.

No, his heart belonged to Cersei, the most beautiful woman in all seven kingdoms according to most. Compared to her, others were nothing, just sheep in an endless flock waiting to be devoured by his fierce lioness. High, clear laughter caught his attention and he turned his head just in time to catch the flash of Lyanna Stark’s dark hair as she was pulled behind a tent. Perhaps he could admit that she too was beautiful, in her own way. Wilder and less contained than Cersei, a little savage and brutal, but beautiful nonetheless.

Curious as to what could have made usually somber wolf maiden so happy, Jamie followed the sound and froze, hiding himself when he spotted the scarlet dragon of the Targaryen’s emblazoned on a field of black on a man’s tunic. Silver hair glinted in the sunlight as the man leant forward and rested his forehead against Lyanna’s, his hands carding through her thick hair gently. Something like shock seized Jamie as he realized that he’d unwittingly stumbled upon a clandestine rendezvous between lovers, and high born lovers at that.

“Did anyone see you?” Rhaegar Targaryen whispered, smiling like a child.

She shook her head and Jamie took a moment to appreciate the way her silver eyes glinted with life and happiness. It was a look he was unaccustomed to seeing on her; with the Baratheon buffoon, she always looked frightened, already dead.

“No, I wasn’t followed,” she assured him, leaning up on her toes to press her lips to his.

Rhaegar, Jamie’s prince, his future king, kissed the engaged Stark woman back, deep and passionate, as though he never wanted to let her go. The sight made something in Jamie’s chest tighten and, without another thought, he turned and left, his mind reeling as he tried to come to terms with the shift he knew had occurred. Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, the dragon and she she-wolf…it didn’t bode well.

He thought again of Jon Arryn, the discontented lord of the Vale who had been so vocal about his feelings towards the Targaryen dynasty. He thought of the restless nobles, of all the people who had lost faith in their rulers, all the young men who itched for battle, who itched for new blood in the monarchy. He thought of Robert Baratheon, the lord of the Stormlands, who was so hopelessly infatuated with Lyanna Stark that he was blind to her indifference.

To Jamie, it felt as though a storm was building just over the horizon, ready to break at any moment and plunge his country into darkness. Part of him worried, part of him wanted to put his duty first and report Rhaegar’s exploits to the King, let Aerys deal with his son and put an end to the danger before it could escalate. However, he could hear his father’s voice whispering to him; _‘anyone who isn’t us, is an enemy’_ , and he poured his worry into that instead, putting all of his faith in his father’s wisdom. _Let the sheep fight one another,_ he thought, _the lion will have it’s dinner either way._

 _But what about the wolf?_ Some small part of him whispered back.

He ignored it. Jamie was rather good at that.

 

Oberyn Martell hated the north. He hated the north with a passion and no amount of being reminded that Harrenhal was technically in the south, would change his mind. The air reeked of winter; the ground alternated between frozen and slippery and muddy and unstable and the Westerosi themselves were unbelievably drab.

Almost from the moment he’d arrived Oberyn had noticed that there was very little warmth in this place. It made him restless and he felt as though there was an itch beneath his skin that he just couldn’t reach. The snake that lived just beneath Oberyn’s skin twisted and hissed, getting more and more anxious every day that he and his countrymen remained in that pale, dismal land. He ran his fingers through his long, raven hair, pulling it back into a loose braid to stop the wind from abusing it as he watched his sister and her handmaidens sew.

Elia looked tired, he noticed, her belly swollen with the pregnancy that sapped her of her strength and energy. She had always been a fragile girl, but she looked worse now than Oberyn could ever remember. Her hair was dull and listless; there were dark circles under her eyes and her limbs were so frail that she seemed like a skeleton who had forgotten to take off its skin. Oberyn ached to take her away, to smuggle her back to Dorne, where the sun and ocean could pour its strength into her and make her strong again. He wanted to protect his sister, but what could he do? How could he protect her from her own, unborn child? How could he protect her from a husband who had never been anything but gentle with her? No, there was no chance of liberating Elia without starting a war and, although he hated to admit it; he didn’t think Elia would go with him anyway.

“Oberyn, stop daydreaming and do something useful,” Elia teased.

 

“Like what?” he countered, “Make nice with these stupid Westerosi?”

Elia rolled her eyes but gave him a fond smile, “You don’t need to play with them, but please for the love of gods do something. Your worrying is driving me insane.”

The prince bowed mockingly, but took his leave anyway, breathing in the air with a small measure of relief. There was a hum of tragedy in that room, something overly sweet, like fruit that was about to become too ripe.

Deep down, in places within himself that he tried not to visit, Oberyn knew what it was, and it terrified him. That smell, that sickly sweet odor, it was the stench of Dornish death.


	15. In The World's Broad Field Of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scratching of his quill against the rough paper was the only sound breaking the heavy silence that had been wrapping itself around Rhaegar Targaryen for the past hour. Even Lyanna was uncharacteristically silent, lying back on Rhaegar’s bed with a thick book and a cup of warm spiced wine. He knew that he was, more than likely, making her nervous; Lyanna Stark wasn’t a woman who had ever been completely comfortable with silence, but she was trying, for him, and he appreciated that.

The scratching of his quill against the rough paper was the only sound breaking the heavy silence that had been wrapping itself around Rhaegar Targaryen for the past hour. Even Lyanna was uncharacteristically silent, lying back on Rhaegar’s bed with a thick book and a cup of warm spiced wine. He knew that he was, more than likely, making her nervous; Lyanna Stark wasn’t a woman who had ever been completely comfortable with silence, but she was trying, for him, and he appreciated that.

It had started with a seemingly innocuous question for Ser Barristan Selmy, who had walked in on the pair just as Rhaegar had finished teaching Lyanna how to recognize the various constellations in the Southern sky. The knight had walked in and asked Rhaegar if he planned on taking all the tributes he’d won in the joust back home to Kings Landing, or if would offer them to his lords as gifts. In the greater scheme of things, it really was nothing, a run of the mill question with no hidden meaning or secret agenda, but it brought into focus the one thing neither he nor Lyanna had found the courage to talk about yet.  
The tourney was nearly over.  
In two days’ time, they would all be packing up and leaving, heading home to different castles on different sides of the country and, though they loved one another dearly, neither could see any feasible way to avoid that. So, Rhaegar was writing about a last resort, an idea that had begun to formulate in his mind nearly a week before, but that he’d brushed aside for being foolish. He wished now that he’d trusted his first instinct, there was no way that he would be able to receive an answer before the tourney ended which meant that he’d have to leave Lyanna, the love of his life, behind.

Just the thought made his blood freeze and his heart pound with terror. Their time together had been short but, now that he knew what it was to be truly happy, to be accepted and cared for and loved, memories of his former life seemed like horror stories. When he was apart from Lyanna for even a day he felt it, like a physical pain in his chest that throbbed and ached, worse with each passing moment. He could scarcely imagine what a week apart would feel like, or a month, or a year…

No, he didn’t even want to entertain the thought of being away from her for a year. His plan would work, it had to work but, as he cast a look at his wolf-maid, admiring the way her hair caught the candle light and the way her lips curved up with the ghost of a smile, he knew that there was a small chance that it wouldn’t. He wouldn’t give Lyanna false hope; he couldn’t bear hurting her like that. Satisfied with his work, Rhaegar stood and made his way to her, kneeling at the side of his bed and pulling her hand to his lips. Lyanna smiled at him, and Rhaegar felt his heart swell with love.

Overcome, he clambered up beside her and pulled Lyanna to his chest, burying his face in her long, soft hair as she laughed and let her book slip from her fingers. Her back was pressed to his chest and Rhaegar could feel her blood pounding through her veins from where his arms were wrapped around her waist.

“Finished working for the night, my love?” She asked, reaching back and carding her fingers through his hair, the way she knew calmed him down.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, losing himself in the bliss of her fingers scratching gently against his scalp.

She chuckled again, low and fond, as she turned to face him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips when he whimpered at the loss of contact with her hair.

“Are you going to tell me what it is you were so intent on getting done?” She asked, her silver-grey eyes flickering with something like concern.

Rhaegar shook his head, “Not yet, not until it’s finished,” he answered, tucking her head under his chin as her arm circled his waist, “it’s nothing life-threatening though, I promise you that.” He told her, which felt like a lie, but wasn't.

Lyanna nodded, satisfied, and for a long while the pair simply held one another. Rhaegar breathed her in deeply. She smelled like vanilla and jasmine and the tiniest bit like the musk of him, which made him obscenely happy. He let his mind drift, feeling safe and comfortable in a way that he’d never even imagined before he’d met Lyanna. In his mind, he replayed the afternoon they’d spent together at a secluded waterfall east of Harrenhall.

The water had been ice cold, but clear and sweet and he’d thrown Lyanna around as they splashed one another like children, laughing and smiling and joking together. Even now, her hair was slightly damp, clinging to the smell of the open air like a sponge. He’d held her then too, their foreheads pressed together in between stolen kisses that burned like dragon fire against his cold skin. Rhaegar had contemplated just staying there, vanishing off into the wilderness with his soulmate and never coming back. The idea was so tempting that it shocked him, the pull still very much tugging at his heart even now, when the madness had otherwise worn off.

When they’d returned home, Rhaegar had had to face Elia. He still felt the guilt gnawing at him, and he knew that he deserved every hateful thing his wife had to say about him. He’d let her beat her fists against his chest and curse him for being a fool but, when she’d started to insult Lyanna, to threaten her with Dornish assassins, he’d had to stop her.

 _“You’re angry at me, not her, leave her out of this,”_ he’d demanded, _“you told me to take her as a mistress, you told me to be with her and, in doing that I’ve put her under my protection. If anything, and I mean anything, happens to her, you’ll face charges of murder and I won’t lift a finger to help you.”_

 _“So that’s it then?”_ Elia had countered, _“You’ve officially chosen her?”_

The memory made Rhaegar shudder, and he pulled Lyanna closer, as though if he held on tight enough he could protect them both from the reality of the lives they were living.

“I love you,” he said quietly, looking down at Lyanna and pressing his lips to her forehead.

“I know,” she hummed, “I love you too.”

“Well that’s lucky, isn’t it?” he joked, stroking her hair gently, his mind still haunted by the memory of the fight with his wife, “Do you remember the joust?”

“Which one?”

“The one I won,” he answered.

Lyanna nodded, smiling up at him almost sadly, “Yes,” she admitted, “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day.”

“That was the day I fell in love with you,” he told her, “even if I didn’t quite know it yet,” Lyanna stayed silent, recognizing that Rhaegar was getting ready to tell a story, “I remember how nervous I was that day. Not for the joust, I didn’t really care about that, but because you’d finally realize who I was. I’d been thinking about pulling out, just to avoid the confrontation, but I figured you had to find out some time,” he said, thinking back to the moment, “I looked for you in the stands before the first tilt, and I saw you looking so beautiful and open and…..and I knew I had to win, for you. I wanted you to be proud of me, as proud of me as I was of you when you rode, so I rode harder than I ever had before. For the first time, winning didn’t seem like an option, it was a necessity. I needed to win like I needed to breathe and then, before I knew it, it was over. My head was spinning from the tilt with Arthur, my ears were ringing, I could barely see, I was struggling just to stay on my horse-it was a nightmare. But then, I pulled off my helmet and I saw _you_ and it was like no one else existed. The noise died down and suddenly it was just you and I, alone on the field and I was holding this crown and it was _your_ crown and I had to give it back to you and…” he stopped and shook his head, remembering Elia’s words again, “I didn’t _choose_ you Lyanna Stark, there was never a choice for me, there was only ever you.”

Slowly, Lyanna ran her fingers along Rhaegar’s face, tracing the length of his nose, the curve of his lips, the skin of his brow and the shell of his ear, committing each to memory as his eyes fluttered shut and he let out a sigh. She leant forward and captured his lips with her own, pouring every ounce of love and adoration in her heart into her kiss. Rhaegar groaned as she nudged his lips apart, cupping her face with his hands and responding eagerly. This wasn’t like some of their other kisses; frantic and desperate. No, this was slow and powerful and, as she nipped at his bottom lip and started trailing kisses across his jaw, he couldn’t help but whimper.

“I never had a choice either,” Lyanna whispered into his ear, her voice low and seductive, sending shiver and chills up and down his spine.

Slowly, she leant forward and kissed the soft skin just beneath his jaw, pulling another breathless moan from his lips as her hands found their way beneath the fabric of his tunic to rest on his skin. Heat was building, like a volcano, between them and Rhaegar wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to hold himself back. Lyanna ran her tongue over the skin of his neck, sucking purple bruises there that made Rhaegar squirm and ache for any sort of release. This was new, uncharted territory for him. Never before had Rhaegar let a woman control him like this, taking charge of the situation, taking charge of the moment, of his pleasure and his body. He felt himself hardening, aching in a way he wasn’t used to, halfway to begging Lyanna for something he barely understood.

“Lyanna-“ he choked out, “please.”

She looked up at him innocently, “Please what, your highness?”

While his body screamed at him to bed her, to just lie back and enjoy the moment he’d imagined so many times in his mind, Rhaegar leant forward and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to her lips.

“Stop,” he forced himself to clarify, even as his body cursed him out, “please stop.”

Lyanna sighed but nodded, looking sad and a little dejected, “If that’s what you want, of course.”

Rhaegar let out a bark of laughter that was tinged with hysteria as his member ached and his heart still pounded, “Trust me, there’s nothing I want less.”

She gave him an incredulous look, but lay back on his chest anyway, staring up at the ceiling.

“Sure Rhaegar,” she answered, her voice wavering slightly.

The prince sat up, moving carefully so as not to reveal his still painfully hard member to Lyanna, ushering her up beside him. She couldn’t meet his eye and Rhaegar felt his stomach drop as he heard the distinctive sound of her breath thickening with suppressed tears.

“My love,” he said gently, hooking his fingers beneath her chin and forcing her to meet his eye, “what’s wrong?” Lyanna didn’t answer, turning her head to brush away her unshed tears and Rhaegar sighed, “Do you think that I don’t _want_ you?” he asked. Lyanna froze, and that was an answer in itself, “Of course I want you,” the prince assured her with a chuckle, “I want you so badly that it actually physically hurts sometimes,” he admitted, tangling his finger in her hair, “the way you make me feel…gods above I want you so much it scares me.”

“Then why did you stop me?” she asked, nuzzling into his touch, “I’ve made what I want pretty clear, I think.”

“You have,” he conceded, “and I want it too, but if anyone ever finds out, you’ll be hung as an adulterer,” Rhaegar reminded her gently, “or at the very least Robert will punish you, and I won’t be able to live with myself if any harm comes to you because of me.”

Lyanna nodded and leant her head against his shoulder, “You’re right, I know you are…”

“Doesn’t make it any easier though,” he finished, earning him another one of her radiant smiles.

“Exactly, and I guess I just,” she started, pausing to search her mind for the right words, “my first kiss belongs to Robert now, he stole that from me when it should have been yours, when it always belonged to you,” she told him, sparking the familiar jealousy and anger from Rhaegar that the thought of Robert Baratheon always did.

Lyanna took his hand in hers and rested it against the base of her throat, where he could feel her blood racing through her veins and the air as it flowed down into her lungs. Slowly, she moved it further down, so that his hand rested just above her breast and he could feel her heartbeat now, thrumming beneath his fingertips like a drum.

“And this,” she continued, “my body, my heart and soul, these things belong to you as well, as much as they belong to me. I don’t want Robert to steal them from us.”

Rhaegar bit down on the back of his jaw and forced himself to remember why he couldn’t just storm into the Baratheon camp and slaughter Lyanna’s fiancé where he stood. No, he had her heart and soul and, somehow that would have to be enough.

“I don’t want that either,” he admitted, resting his forehead against hers, “but I want-I _need_ you to be alive even more. I need to know that you’re out there somewhere, living a good life, or I swear I’ll go insane,” he told her, giving voice to something he’d known for a long time, “I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist, I won’t survive it.”

“Neither will I,” she agreed, taking a deep breath in, as though gathering her courage, before announcing, “I’ll come with you to King’s Landing. I’ll tell my father that the crown wants my wedding to be there and I’ll go with you when you leave. The wedding will still take place, but at least we can be together for a few months before then.”

Rhaegar’s breath caught in his throat and he pulled his head back to regard his woman carefully. It was a plan that they’d come up with a week or so ago, a plan Lyanna had vetoed because it meant that she’d never see Winterfell again. Now, however, her silver eyes bore into his with a sincerity that made him melt. Just then, ser Arthur came in and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, your Highness, but Lady Lyanna’s escort has arrived,”

Lyanna whimpered and Rhaegar’s stomach plummeted, “Curse those Tullys and their punctuality,” he joked.

Lyanna laughed softly and pulled him in for another breathtaking kiss, “We’ll talk about it in the morning, yes?”

Her eyes were wide and hopeful, and Rhaegar tried to crush the lingering doubt that threatened to unseat him. “Of course, I’ll have ser Barristan call on you as soon as it’s safe,” he promised, kissing her one last time.

Lyanna smiled and nodded; standing and lacing their fingers together as he walked her to the entrance of the camp. Catelyn Tully was indeed waiting for them, her eyes betraying only the slightest hint of judgement when they approached. She was a fierce looking woman, but beautiful, and Rhaegar knew that all her anger was directed at him only for endangering Lyanna the way he did. Catelyn Tully loved Lyanna like a younger sister and, for that, he loved her. Somehow, Rhaegar was powerless to dislike anyone who loved his lady for who she was, and he felt a kind of kinship with Catelyn.

“Thank you again Lady Tully,” he said with a deep bow, “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“No thanks necessary, my prince,” she answered, “none at all.”

Lyanna turned and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, “Sleep sweet my love.”

They couldn’t kiss in front of Catelyn, but Rhaegar caressed her with his eyes, thanking every god in every world for giving him the chance to meet, and love the woman in front of him.

“Sleep sweet Lyanna Stark,” he whispered back.

And he stood and watched as the women vanished into the night, taking with them any sense of calm or ease he might have had. As he returned to his tent, Rhaegar felt restless and full of pent up energy. He pulled his cushions to his face and breathed in the lingering scent of Lyanna, sighing as it sent a bolt of desire through him. Cautiously, he sat down on his bed, letting out a breath as his mind wondered back to the feeling of Lyanna’s lips on his neck, trailing across his skin as her fingers dug into the skin of his waist.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he remembered the way her eyes had looked, dark with lust as she’d nipped at his skin, leaving her mark for everyone to see.

Rhaegar leant back against the headboard of his bed, letting his eyes drift shut as he palmed himself through his pants. He should’ve fucked her today, some hazy part of his mind observed. He should’ve just—fuck, he should’ve wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, down onto his body, until she could feel how hard he was, how badly he wanted her, and she would’ve let out a little moan, her voice deep and filled with longing and desire, desire to take, to mark him as hers. She would’ve ground down on him, making him cry out and buck up against her hips and under all that lust she would’ve been nervous, anxious to please, to please _him_. She would have leaned forward an whispered _‘are you sure?’_ and he would’ve tried to talk but- _fuck_ -no he’d already be in too deep and nothing would have come out but a helpless little moan and, _Oh_ , he would’ve _fucking begged_ her for it.

Slowly he kicked off his pants and pulled off his shirt, his skin so prickly and hot with want that even the idea of clothing was too much for him. He wrapped his hand around his dick, hissing as the familiar pleasure spiked through him.

“Auh, fuck,” he groaned, his mind still drifting.

He wondered, as he began to stroke himself slowly, uncomfortably aware of how easy it would be to cum right now, what Lyanna would look like spread out on his bed, maybe her fingers would be tangled in his hair, scratching just the way he liked as he used his tongue, the tongue she so often praised for it’s ability to sing, to _fuck her_. She’d taste so good, he just knows it, and he’d suck dark bruises onto her inner thighs where only he could see them and- _fuck_ -maybe she’d moan his name, breathless and beautiful and she’d plead and whimper and squirm. And she’d look down at him with those big silver eyes and then she’d _demand_ , then she’d tug his hair hard and her chest would heave _‘Rhaegar please, make me cum, make me cum now!’_.

The prince groaned, “Yes, gods above _yes_.”

He picked up the pace, his breath coming in quick bursts as he felt the rough sword-callouses drag against the sensitive skin of his dick. Fuck, Lyanna’s hands would feel so much better, his mind supplied. Her hands would feel like heaven against his skin, so small, so _goddamn small_ compared to him, small enough that he could- _fuck_ -he could pin her body to the bed with his and-and then he’d rub slick little circles around her clit and he’d have her shaking, her hips rocking up and down just a little bit because she’d be so wet, so needy, so turned on that she wouldn’t be able to take any more, but he would make her take more until she was begging him to fuck her, to take her rough and hard and- _fuck, fuck, gods, yes,_ -he bit his jaw and dragged his thumb along the slit of his dick. 

He couldn’t take much more, he realized as he fisted the sheets with his free hand, but he makes himself hold back. He’d fuck her alright, but first he’d press down on her clit and he’d slide his fingers into her and- _Ah, yes, fuck_ \- then she’d come and her mouth would fall open and she’d scream for him, and he wouldn’t be able to fucking stop himself. He’d kiss her hard and slam into her and she’d cry out and maybe she’d _shudder_ and he’d press soft, breathless kisses to her face and her neck because he’s trying to be gentle, he really is but- _fuck_ -she’s just so tight that it almost hurts and then she’d nod and he’d start to move and- _gods above_ -she’d just feel so good and she’d start to gasp and-and moan and her nails would scrape down his back and he’d hiss and pick up his pace. _‘Ah, yes please, yes just like that,’_ she’d plead, _‘more, **more** ,’_ and he’d give it to her and she’d _moan his name_ _and whisper that she loved him_ and that-Rhaegar’s muscles tensed up and his back arched as white hot pleasure coiled in the pit of his stomach, so strong that he thought he might pass out from the feeling of it because _that_ would be the thing that pushed him over the edge, his name, broken sounding and dripping with ecstasy would break him and he’d- _fuck, yes, yes, gods above yes, **just like that**_ -

His orgasm ripped through him like an arrow and he came so hard that it left him seeing stars, his body collapsing against the bed, limp and boneless as he tried frantically to catch his breath. Rhaegar chuckled to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that, used his hand to pleasure himself like some sort of horny teenager, but he knew that it had never felt like that before.

“What are you doing to me Lyanna Stark?” he asked no one in particular, “What are you doing to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys! I'm not great at smut and it took me ages to get that bit to a point where I was happy with it. Hope you guys like it though.


	16. In The Bivouac Of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna’s breath created cloud of steam in the cool night air. Catelyn, beside her, was grumbling about Lyanna’s recklessness, as she did every evening, but Lyanna herself wasn’t listening. Instead, she was thinking about Rhaegar, her prince, her love, and the promise she’d made him. It didn’t sit well with her, knowing that she would never see her home again but, she loved Rhaegar fiercely and love required this kind of sacrifice, didn’t it?

Lyanna’s breath created cloud of steam in the cool night air. Catelyn, beside her, was grumbling about Lyanna’s recklessness, as she did every evening, but Lyanna herself wasn’t listening. Instead, she was thinking about Rhaegar, her prince, her love, and the promise she’d made him. It didn’t sit well with her, knowing that she would never see her home again but, she loved Rhaegar fiercely and love required this kind of sacrifice, didn’t it?

In all honesty, Lyanna was no longer sure that she knew what love required. It had come so quickly, so inconveniently, that Lyanna still sometimes felt as though she were drowning, trying to figure out which way was up. Of course, she never felt that when she was actually with Rhaegar. He alone seemed able to calm her down, to guide her back to the surface so that she could take a few deep breaths before being plunged back into the ice-cold water. However, when she was alone, she worried. They were so different, so completely different from one another that it frightened her sometimes. By nature, Rhaegar was somber and quiet, sometimes so quiet that Lyanna forgot that he was even in the room with her. Silence made her nervous, it reminded her too much of Brandon and her father, of the way their breath would slow and become deathly quiet just before they got angry. She wanted noise and sound and words to fill the empty space, to assure her that nothing was wrong, that she hadn’t screwed everything up; as Brandon was convinced she was wont to do.

She liked to think that she was learning though, how to differentiate between silence that was threatening and silence that was comfortable and Rhaegar, in turn, had started making sure to speak more, even if he didn’t have anything particularly interesting to say. The fact that he was trying so hard for her made Lyanna feel warm and soft, as though she was melting into a cloud of pure happiness. Deep down, Lyanna knew that she couldn’t live like this forever; playing the dutiful lady one minute and then sneaking off with the prince in the next. She knew that it had to come to an end and soon but some stubborn part of her clung to Rhaegar, insisting that, now that they were together they could never let one another go.

“You aren’t even listening to me anymore, are you?” Catelyn sighed, bringing Lyanna back to reality.

“Hmm, what?” she asked, earning her another sigh from the older Tully.

“I asked if you knew about your brother and Ashara Dayne,” she repeated.

“Which brother?”

Catelyn flushed and Lyanna mentally chastised herself for her stupidity.

“Oh, you mean Eddard, of course,” she backpedaled, “I know that they’re in love, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I mean about their engagement, do you know if your father has approved?” Catelyn clarified.

Lyanna frowned, “Um, no actually, I haven’t heard, but I know Rhaegar gave them his blessing.”

“Why did he do that, do you think?” Cat asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

Lyanna shrugged, “He’s always adored Ashara, she’s kind of like the sister he never had. He really wants a good marriage for her, one with someone who’ll treat her well and where she’ll be happy. I suppose he just liked Ned, liked how Ned made her feel.”

Catelyn nodded, “Well, he should be careful, there’s a lot of people down south that think he’s showing favoritism and would rather he not get involved.”

“But, he’s the prince, isn’t it kind of his job to get involved?” Lyanna countered, feeling a surge of protectiveness flow through her body.

Catelyn sighed, “Technically, yes, but no noble _actually wants_ the crown to be involved in their day to day lives and I’m worried that-“ Catelyn paused, pressing her lips together, “just, tell him to be careful, okay?”

Lyanna frowned, a distinct feeling of unease settling in her stomach. She nodded once and, with that, the pair continued on their walk. The night was cool, with an icy breeze that was almost biting and soothed Lyanna’s skin. There was a restless fluttering in her chest that refused to settle, a heat and energy that seemed intent on bubbling up and over into the world. Lyanna felt as though she were floating rather than walking, her mind lost in a tangle of improbable happiness. It sounded cheesy to say, but love had changed everything for her. It was as though the entire world had shifted and, suddenly, nothing could hurt her anymore. Even the almost daily visits with Robert had become more bearable since she’d realized that, as soon as he left, she could escape to spend a few precious hours with Rhaegar.

 _Rhaegar_ , even just his name sent a shiver of delight through her. There was an ineffable purity and sureness to him that made Lyanna feel safe and protected, but a love that felt to her like riding full tilt in the pouring rain. He excited her, lifted her up into the sky, higher than she’d ever been before and then brought her back down gently. It could be said that, when they were apart, Lyanna felt like less of herself, and she hated every second of it.

Soon enough, Lyanna and Catelyn had arrived back at the Stark camp, and Lyanna bid her friend goodnight, placing a gentle kiss on the older girl’s cheek before she vanished into her tent, collapsing on her bed with a sigh.

“Good night, my lady?” Ilya asked, arranging Lyanna’s bed clothes.

Lyanna turned and smiled gently at her handmaiden and nodded, “Sublime.”

Ilya nodded, “I’m glad. It’s good to see you this happy again; Prince Rhaegar must really be something special.”

“He is,” Lyanna agreed, “Ilya, can I tell you something?”

The handmaiden straightened up nervously, “Of course my lady.”

Lyanna chewed on her bottom lip, her mind tumbling somewhere between Earth and the heavens above it.

“I don’t think-” she started slowly, “-I don’t think I’ll ever see Winterfell again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ilya laughed, “of course you will my lady. Winterfell is your home.”

For a brief moment, Lyanna considered telling Ilya her plans but she decided against it. It would be unfair to ask her friend to keep that kind of secret from her father. Instead she simply looked up at the ceiling, letting her mind run free.

“You’re right,” she agreed half-heartedly, “of course I’ll see Winterfell again.”

\---------------------------

The night passed quickly but the day, however, dragged on like a horse in a deep swamp. Lyanna was waiting for word from Rhaegar and, as usual, it made her feel antsy and useless. She knew that they had to be careful, she knew that there was more at stake for them both than a little bit of campsite gossip, she did but, nevertheless, it was awful. For a long while she sat and read, listening to the sounds of camp rise and fall like the tide. People were beginning to leave now. Empty patches were springing up here and there with alarming frequency and even her own campsite felt more and more empty by the second. It was indescribably sad because, at the end of it all, Lyanna had found happiness here, true happiness, for the first time. She was in no rush to lose it again.

“My lady,” an accented voice drawled, pulling her back into the present, “I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

Lyanna looked up and had to fight back a look of intense shock. With her heart pounding in her fragile ribcage, she stood and curtseyed as best she could, following the man out into the open camp.

Oberyn looked much the same as he had the first time she’d encountered him, maybe slightly paler, more tired looking, as though he’d spent the last few nights awake and worrying. Nevertheless there was an ease about him, a flicker of wild that made Lyanna trust him, against her better judgement.

“Where are you taking me?” Lyanna eventually asked, when it became clear that Oberyn wasn’t going to make conversation.

Oberyn cast her a look, as though he’d forgotten she was there, “To my sister of course. She wishes to see you.”

Somehow, Lyanna’s stomach plummeted even more. She hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of the Princess since Robert’s feast and, if she was honest, she liked it that way. If she didn’t actually see Elia, she could forget about the massive betray Rhaegar had committed by being with Lyanna. Was it selfish? Definitely. Did she feel guilty about it? Every single day. Was that guilt enough to keep her from seeing Rhaegar? Not even close.

Oberyn ushered Lyanna up a flight of stairs and into a room hung with colored silks, closing the door behind her suddenly, as though he were making sure that she couldn’t escape. Lyanna swallowed hard and slowly let her eyes drift up to meet the Princess’. Elia was seated in an ornate gold chair, almost like a throne, with her long dark hair piled on top of her head, cushioning a crown of red gems. Her gown was made of rich golden fabric, showing off her baby bump and yet still having a low enough neckline to be considered risqué.

Lyanna noticed, with a mild panic, that Elia looked awful. Her face was still beautiful, but her warm copper skin had a grey tint that her make up couldn’t hide. Her hair, once so shiny and lush, was now dull and it seemed as though she could cut herself on the sharp edges of her collarbone. Pregnancy did not agree with Elia Martell, that much was certain, and Lyanna felt a surge of pity for the older woman.

“Your Highness,” she greeted with a deep curtsey, “you sent for me?”

“I did,” Elia answered brusquely, “I wanted to see you for myself. It’s been so long that I’d nearly forgotten what you look like.”

Lyanna was unsure what to say to that, so she said nothing, watching silently as Elia got cautiously to her feet and began to circle her. Lyanna felt trapped, but she knew that there was nothing she could say or do to dissuade the Princess from her hatred. Some small part of Lyanna, the part that wept each time she saw Elia’s growing belly, reminded her that this was probably what she deserved.

“Gods above, you are just _so_ beautiful aren’t you?” Elia commented, venom dripping from each word, “So very _beautiful_ , and _smart_ and _kind_ ; the woman of his dreams! The perfect whore he’s always wanted.” Each word made Lyanna flinch, but she stood her ground, never allowing herself to meet Elia’s fierce, black eyes. “Never mind his _wife_. Never mind his _children_. Never mind the vow he made to me, to my family. Oh no, how could any of that possibly matter when compared to _true love_? How could anyone hope to compete with the famous Lyanna Stark? The maid so beautiful she turned even the dutiful Rhaegar Targaryen away from his lawful wife and turned him into a lovesick fool,” Elia continued, her voice getting louder and louder with each second, “You are a thief Lyanna Stark, you know that? You stole something from me. You stole both my husband and my future from me. Are you happy now? Are you satisfied?”

Lyanna finally looked up, her grey eyes watering with suppressed tears and her cheeks painted red with embarrassment.

“I deserve your hatred your Highness,” she started, “I know I do, but please don’t think that I ever wanted to hurt you or your children. I didn’t even know who Rhaegar was the first few times we met. I had no idea that I was talking to a married man, otherwise I never would have entertained it. Nevertheless, I know now, and I know that this does nothing to ease your hurt but, I really do love him. I love him with all my heart and through some miracle, he loves me too. It’s inconvenient and bothersome and risky and awful and it will almost definitely end badly but-well-if nothing else, take comfort in the fact that I’ll spend the rest of my life trapped in a miserable, loveless marriage, missing Rhaegar with all my heart.”

Elia regarded Lyanna carefully, watching as she brushed stray tears from her pale cheek. The northerner was shaking like a leaf, but she didn’t flinch when Elia stepped closer, inspecting the sincerity in Lyanna’s eyes. She felt a begrudging respect for Lyanna. She still stung from Rhaegar’s betrayal, and there was very little chance of her ever fully forgiving Lyanna, but she respected the girl’s honesty, and that at least, was something.

“No,” Elia called, interrupting her own train of thought and grabbing a handful of Lyanna’s long, dark, hair, “Don’t expect any pity from me, girl,” she snarled as her heart rebelled against her body’s violence, “if anything you deserve to marry that oaf of a Baratheon. Only then will you understand the shame you’ve brought on me and my family.”

Lyanna opened her mouth to answer, the skin of her scalp stinging under Elia’s firm grip but just then the door flew open and Rhaegar Targaryen stormed in, his face twisted in fury. In an instant, Elia let Lyanna go, and she fell to the ground.

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded, kneeling beside Lyanna, “Are you alright my love? Are you hurt? Ser Barristan, take Lyanna to see the court physician.”

“I’m fine,” she promised, touching her head gently, “really Rhaegar, I’m alright, there’s no need Ser Barristan.”

Rhaegar’s face was still pinched with worry but he nodded and helped Lyanna up gently, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head which made Lyanna blush with embarrassment.

“Really Elia? Is this what we’ve come to?” Rhaegar shouted, “Assaulting innocent girls because your _feelings_ got hurt and you’re jealous?”

Elia balled her fists, “This is _your_ fault! You brought her into our lives, you made a fool out of me in front of the entire kingdom, this is _all_ your doing!”

In that moment Lyanna understood properly, for the first time, the extent of Elia Martell’s hatred for her. There was nothing that the Dornish woman would like more than to see Lyanna’s blood staining the stone floor.

“Lay a hand on her again and it will be the very last time you have hands,” Rhaegar promised, pulling Lyanna with him out of the stifling room and into the cool air.

Lyanna choked down a flood of sobs as the shock of the last hour set in and her tears bubbled up over her cheeks. Rhaegar’s face crumpled and he pulled Lyanna close, stroking her hair softly and whispering gentle, comforting words in her ear. She burrowed into his chest, breathing in the familiar smell of him.

“She’s going to kill me,” she sobbed, “she’s going to kill me.”

Rhaegar’s arms tightened around her, “No she won’t. Elia isn’t a killer, she won’t hurt you.”

“Yes she will,” Lyanna cried, “you didn’t see her, you didn’t hear how she-she _hates_ me Rhaegar. She really, really hates me.”

For a long while, until she calmed down, Rhaegar just held her and, even through her panic, Lyanna could practically hear the wheels in his head turning.

“I love you,” he whispered, “I’ll never let anything happen to you Lya. I’ve never loved another, there has only ever been you, you must believe that.”

“I do,” she agreed, “I do believe that.”

“Then-“ he started, feeling his own grief threaten to swallow him whole, “then you must return to Winterfell tomorrow.”

Lyanna froze, looking up at Rhaegar, “What? No, I’m coming to Kings Landing with you.”

Rhaegar shook his head, “No Lyanna, I can’t ask that of you. I can’t take you from your home and throw you straight into the viper’s nest that is mine. Please Lyanna, please understand, I can’t do that to you.”

“You’re not doing anything to me, I chose this, I chose you!”

“And I’m telling you to make a different choice,” Rhaegar shot back, his voice tight with suppressed sadness, “as your prince, I forbid you to follow me to Kings Landing. I command you to return home with your family.”

Lyanna stepped back, physically recoiling from the prince, something like anger mixing with the sadness in her chest.

“You….forbi-you _command_ me? I am not one of your subjects Rhaegar-“ she started.

“Yes, actually, you are,” Rhaegar interrupted, “and as my subject, you’re duty-bound to do what I say and right now I’m saying that you need to leave. Go home, be with your family, forget all about me, forget this place. Our time is up, we both have to return to reality now.”

Feeling Lyanna’s rage growing rage was bittersweet, it hurt him more than he’d ever imagined but, if it kept her safe, it had to be worth it. He watched as she pulled away from him, rejection and hurt reflected on every inch of her beautiful, innocent face. Gods, how he wanted to touch her, to comfort her, but all he could do was watch.

Lyanna swallowed hard, wiping her face clear of any and all emotion and dipped into a deep curtsey, her silver eyes glinting with anger.

“As you wish… _your Highness,_ ” she practically spat, turning on her heel and vanishing into the crowd.

Rhaegar watched her go, collapsing against the nearest wall as soon as she was out of sight. His chest ached as his body was wracked with sobs. He’d lost her. He’d lost the love of his life. His tears were warm and salty against his cheeks and he wanted nothing more than to chase after Lyanna and beg her forgiveness, pull her close and kiss the anger from her lips, insist it was all a bad joke, of course she could come to Kings Landing, of course they should spend every available second together, of course…

“No,” he growled to himself, digging his nails into the palms of his hands, “no, her safety comes first.”

“You did the right thing my prince,” Barristan insisted, “this is what’s best.”

“Then explain to me, _Ser Barristan Selmy_ , why it feels as though I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait guys! I'm busy writing exams so it's been really hard to find the time to do this. I hope you like this chapter!


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